The Immortal Blunder
by garbageandkneehighs
Summary: Two Cullens, one speeding bus, an ill-fated hotdog... and a partridge in the Tree of Knowledge. Throw it all together and you've got an instant recipe for true love. AU/AH/OOC/Canon Couples
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

God. The all-powerful being. The Creator, the Big Cheese of the Known Universe - or whatever you want to call him - who is said to be in control of everything that happens. Or rather the one who is constantly questioned by those intelligent enough to ask why.

For those who believe, He is infallible. All encompassing in knowledge and completely free of fault; God is the only answer that is needed.

However, to those who refute any and all things religious, He is nothing more than a tool. Something to keep men from doing wrong, meant to inspire mankind to believe that there is something – a hidden meaning if you will – to the world as we see it.

And then to others – well let's just say they don't give a damn either way. So long as they have their free will, what does it matter, right?

But what about the Devil? When you die, is there an afterlife, or do we fade away into nothingness? Is it that simple? And what about the human 'soul'? Do people even actually have that energy, that glowing little ball of light that is so often seen in Hollywood's blockbusters?

...Let me say this right now: you bastards out there got it easy.

Nobody stops to think about the poor suckers that get stuck with all the fucking dirty work. Most of us don't even get a choice.

I sure as hell didn't.

In fact, it's probably safe to say that the majority of us supernatural grunts got the shit end of the stick when it comes to having any say in anything. No, we just get slapped upside the head with rules and responsibility and some condescending bullshit lecture on how it's all part of the Divine fucking Plan.

You might think I'm being overly dramatic. Too much 'whine, whine, bitch, bitch' to really know what I'm talking about.

You're dead wrong.

I know better than most what the hell is going on around here. I might be licking the bottom of last week's fraternity beer keg, but fuck all if I don't know the Truth. I could tell you that God's miracles are done on the second to last setting of an off balance washing machine, and the Devil's one exploitable weakness are those prissy little dark chocolate Bon Bons God sometimes brings in place of a sack lunch. I could tell you that at the end of the day, God finishes up his paperwork and sends it off to his superiors (yes, you heard me right the first time) to be approved, and I will tell you that what I'm saying is not the product of an over indulgence of brain melting substances.

That might have been the case before I got picked out from yesterday's leftovers. By comparison, before seemed damn good when put against the amount of suckage this brought to the table.

Well...for the first decade at least.

But that part doesn't come until way the fuck after the fact.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to drive through you're ignorant skulls is this; don't just think everything has to do with God. His Sparkly Righteousness isn't the only one busting his ass for the sake of the Universe.

So when you give a shit enough to think about it, ponder the meaning of life - yours or your daughter's, or the man tending the hot dog stand on the corner of W. 77th and Broadway's - try to take into consideration the whole picture, all the moving parts that keep everything from crashing and burning on the wayside.

Your local Death would – probably - appreciate it.

I know I would…


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – Touched**

Death needed a cigarette break. Badly.

Never mind the fact that he didn't have a physical body and therefore would get nothing from lighting up a technically incorporeal cancer stick to sooth his non-existent nerves with a not-so-healthy-if-he-possessed-flesh-and-blood lungs dose of nicotine.

But the thought was nice. Certainly the simple actions involved in smoking would keep him from losing his focus. Maybe it would even keep him from taking the little black pager clipped to one of the belt loops on his worn out jeans and chucking it down the nearest manhole he came across.

That's not to say that he hadn't tried to. Ditch the pager that is. One time, in a rather extravagant fit of childish rage, he had thrown the little black hunk of plastic at Daddy G's pretty golden head.

It was a severe disappointment for him as the pager sailed harmlessly over God's shoulder – coming within millimeters of clipping an ear – to strike the wall behind him.

Of course, it didn't make him feel any better when God smiled in that infuriatingly beatific way of his and re-materialized the outdated piece of garbage turned torture device right over Death's head in retaliation.

Death was of the opinion that whoever came up with the name Spirit of Tenderness in reference to the Almighty PIA needed a boot up the ass. From him personally, if he was to have any say in the matter.

Honestly though, was it really too much to ask for people to keep their sorry asses from dying every fucking second of the day?

It's not that Death hated his job per se. Most days he'd even go so far as say that he enjoyed it as much as a supernatural being of intangible energy could, but New York City didn't offer a spare moment in which he could kick back and relax.

So far, he'd passed Judgment on well over fifty ungrateful souls that morning alone and it didn't look as if it would be slowing down anytime soon. Death swore violently when the pager buzzed three times in quick succession, providing him with the details of his next assignment.

Damn these big apple sons o' bitches to hell.

Fishing out the battered box of cigarettes from his brown leather jacket, Death double-checked the worn timepiece on his wrist.

12:09

Good, he was early. Plenty of time to find the target, position himself for a quick and dirty soul extraction, and maybe even have a minute to read the crumpled up newspaper stuffed haphazardly down the front of his pants.

Because even Death liked to know what was going on in the outside world. That and he wanted to know when the Smashing Pumpkins would be playing in his area.

With any luck somebody would bite the big one during the concert and he would get the chance to be somewhere he actually wanted to be for a change.

Death snorted and lit up, and mentally derailing that wistful thought, he forced himself to concentrate on his surroundings. Snatches of conversation filtered into his ears, people in business suits hurried past, window shoppers dragged their feet from one storefront to another, and automobiles raced by making everything reek of gasoline and burning rubber.

Slowing his fast pace to a more languid stride, Death considered the details of his errand.

The message had said the corner of W. 77th and Broadway, which he now saw wasn't a lot to go on. This street corner specifically was wide, teeming with pedestrians rushing and dodging this way and that, the taxi drivers and public transport buses making target practice of those reckless enough to linger around the filthy gutters.

A perfect place for an unexpected – possibly messy – eradication of mortal life, but a wholly exasperating game of 'Where is Waldo' for the guy who has to do the work.

Death took a long, deep drag on the cylindrical sanity stuck between his lips and casually leaned up against a busted light-post. There was no sense in him busting his ass to find this fool – not that Death was going to anyhow – right at that moment. He still had time and to be perfectly blunt, Death wasn't gonna waste a chance at procrastination.

Tugging the wrinkled newspaper from his waistband, Death flipped to the entertainment section, all the while making sure to keep an eye on the ticking wristwatch and an ear out for the name E. Cullen.

* * *

"Edward, you never have any time for me anymore! You're always away on some business meeting, never home at a decent hour-"

A slender hand tipped with shockingly red painted fingernails gesticulated wildly in the air to accompany the shrieking of a clearly angry woman rounding the corner with her hapless boyfriend. The unfortunate young man in question made it a point to drift a little farther away from that hand, thinking to himself that having an eyeball speared by one of those lethal nails wouldn't be the least bit pleasant.

Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the exaggerated accusations being thrown his way; he really didn't need this today.

The morning had been rife with problems that seemingly couldn't be taken care of without his help. Between his personal secretary quitting because he refused to giver her a raise, which everyone in the building knew she didn't deserve, saving a merger that was perilously close to falling through, and endless nights spent glued to the laptop going over the last 6 months of sale records… the list went on and on.

Edward merely didn't have the mental faculties to deal with an unhappy girlfriend on top of everything else.

He knew without a doubt that he loved Jessica – enough to marry her even – but he had a career to maintain. A career that provided her with all the materialistic things she insisted on having. And those manicures weren't cheap either. Now if he could convince her of that without sounding as if he were accusing hernof being a money sucking leech on his bank account…

Withholding an exasperated sigh – knowing that she would take it as a sign of dismissal – Edward tried to ignore the stares of passersby that turned at the sound of Jessica's shrill rant.

Instead he ran a hand through his stylishly disheveled copper hair and mentally braced himself to do some damage control before the one-sided argument could get out of control.

Doing his best to smile through the mounting stress and the sudden realization that he had a business meeting within the hour, he smoothly interjected in a consoling tone of voice when Jessica paused to draw breath.

"How about we talk this over while we grab a bite to eat?"

* * *

12:27

Death shifted from one foot to the other, glancing sharply from behind his newspaper to glare at nothing.

He'd smoked his way through two cigarettes and scoured the concert listing in vain, and still not so much as a whisper of the name of his current target.

Swearing darkly to himself, Death scanned the faces of the now diminished crowd. The unlucky bastard had to already be in the area – it was just a matter of figuring out which one was deserving of having their soul ripped from the physical realm of existence.

Black eyes flicked from one forgettable face to another, Death hoped that maybe if he looked hard enough he might see a flashing neon sign that would point him in the right direction. Actually, he amended that thought viciously, a flashing neon sign smack on this E. Cullen's forehead saying 'Life Pass Revoked' would have been incredibly beneficial to getting the job over with.

In the background to Death's subconscious whining about the maddening task at hand, a certain crash and general mayhem seemed to be taking place in the bar right in front of him. Distantly, the sound of breaking beer bottles and drunken yells added to the feeling that someone upstairs – someone who got entirely too much credit for all the hard work – was out to piss him off today.

"Edward Cullen, aren't you going to say something?"

Head snapping up at neck wrenching speed, Death zeroed in on the ear-splitting female voice that had come from the corner hot dog stand.

There standing but a few yards away from where he was leaning up against the light-post, was the girl who had screeched so loudly and next to her… was a man in an impeccable black suit clawing desperately at his throat, a bitten-into hot dog laying not so innocently at his feet.

Bingo! That was his man – the moribund who had less than two minutes to spare before his date with Spontaneous Death.

Carelessly tossing both the cigarette butt and newspaper to the ground, Death pushed off the light-post and dodged around a drunkard who had just stumbled out the bar door directly into his path, not once taking his black eyes off the face that was slowly turning a light shade of blue.

With each step, Death drew nearer. As those blue lips and bulging eyes, those silent pleas for help came into sharper focus; Death couldn't help but find the irony in the circumstances leading to the unavoidable termination of another mortal life.

This young man – who clearly was healthy with the exception of a chunk of processed meat and grain lodged in his esophagus – would probably have had many long years of life ahead of him. Perhaps if the man at the hot dog stand wasn't counting his money in the register hidden underneath the tiny serving counter, he might have been saved. Maybe if his she-demon of a girlfriend wasn't turned away examining her nails in a petty show of arrogance, he might have lived.

He might have had help if even one person in the area could pull themselves from the self-inflicted tunnel vision of their everyday lives.

But no, he was going to flop over onto the sidewalk, completely silenced by that lump of half-chewed food, left with no other option than to perish from lack of oxygen.

Coming to a halt beside that man, Death crouched down next to him – this Edward Cullen – and allowed the world to slip away. Intent on the spastic clenching of fingers that were still clutching at the slender column of a pale throat, he breathed deeply the smell of fear and panic radiating from the body lying on the unforgiving concrete.

Death could feel the ticking of the second hand on his watch, marching inevitably on, and reaching out to the slowing heartbeat, Death sank his hand into the dying man's chest.

And with a firm hold on Edward's soul, he waited for the exact moment when the watch would read 12:34.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

Congratulating himself on another job well done, Death yanked up in an effortless maneuver that should have dislodged the soul from the dead body…

…That is, if his hand hadn't been met with unexpected resistance.

Not quite believing it, Death jerked with more force than was strictly necessary to be met again with the same-undeniable-snag.

Holy. Shit.

Mouth dropping open in disbelieving horror, Death could only watch as the girlfriend, who he swore had not been paying attention to her dying boyfriend mere moments ago, threw herself down on said boyfriend's abdomen in a damsel-in-distress-don't-leave-me move.

Just like that, the hot dog was expelled, leaving a gasping, shuddering – very much alive – young man on the pavement.

At a loss, Death reluctantly removed his hand from the steadily strengthening heart it was wrapped around.

"Hey, Cullen! Don't forget your jacket."

Once again, head whipping around at muscle rending speed, Death's shocked gaze locked onto the intoxicated man clinging to the entryway of the bar, a letter jacket swinging back and forth in a loose grip.

What where the odds?

The drunkard that had practically stumbled into his arms minutes prior was swiveling around – a stupidly glazed half-grin on his face – and appeared to be in the process of dredging up a response for the equally sloshed idiot that had yelled at him.

Except – being fucked up beyond most physical or mental capability – the dumb ass slipped off the curb into oncoming traffic.

"Emmett, dude, watch out!"

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

And there went Mr. E. Mother Fucking Cullen, plastered to the front of a bus, hurtling down the street passed Death's frozen figure at an impressive 60 miles per hour.

Death came to the staggering conclusion that there was no chance whatsoever of him catching that soul.

* * *

Edward was reeling. Everything was tilted, flipped, spinning faster, then slower. One moment he was standing up on both feet and now he had a perfect view of a sky layered thickly with smog.

Dimly he felt the scratching of his nails on the sensitive skin of his throat, scraping uncomfortably on his furiously bobbing Adam's apple. No matter how hard he tried to gulp down the painful lump he felt there – which he swore grew bigger with every failed attempt – Edward couldn't stop the cold thought that rose above the chaos of his spiraling mind.

He was dying.

That thought struck with relentless force against the sides of his skull. It ricocheted back and forth – around and around – until Edward imagined his brain was gradually being whisked into a sludgy grey milkshake.

Yet beneath all the terror was a center of calm – the proverbial eye of the hurricane – and it was in this little corner of Edward's otherwise deteriorating mind that allowed him to take in his surroundings while everything else fell to pieces.

He could clearly see Jessica. He could see with striking clarity his beautiful Jessica fawning over her fingernails, obviously too self-absorbed to see her significant other practically lying over her designer shoes.

Edward felt the cold, hard concrete – already felt the bruising of his shoulders and back from the short fall of his collapse.

The traffic, the slight breeze, shouting and what could be gunfire in the distance – everything was coming through in high-definition.

But even with those enhanced senses, Edward never heard the approach of Death.

Instead, just as his vision began to dull and fuzz darkly around the outer edges, a face came into view among the dingy clouds.

A face with the most alarmingly pair of black eyes Edward had ever seen.

At that very moment he knew.

That hot dog was going nowhere.

Of course, that knowledge presented no comfort for him. There was no 'accepting' or any of that 'letting go of the situation', or whatever. Faced – quite literally – with his impending doom, Edward's sole concern was the fact that this was not what he wanted, and given the choice, this was not how he wanted to go.

Against his will, darkness finally settled over his eyes. Gradually all the hysteria melted away, leaving him with the sensation of floating.

Suspended as Edward was in his subconsciousness, he unfortunately wasn't beyond physical awareness.

Edward felt the iciness bleed through when Death reached in and grabbed hold of his heart. He felt the strong fingers cradle the weakened muscle, the fading thump of his heartbeat within the frigid core, and Edward waited for the end to come.

So naturally he assumed he was dead when he felt that hand jerk in his chest.

…But then it happened again.

…And again.

And then there was a solid weight pressing down on him and everything came rushing back, thoroughly obliterating the nice floaty feeling he had before.

Blinking his eyes furiously against the sunlight, Edward realized that he had gone from choking on a hot dog to choking on air. He gasped raggedly, coughing on every inhale, generally speaking his entire respiratory system was on the fritz but Edward could have cared less.

Rolling over onto his side, effectively throwing his blubbering girlfriend off his body and onto the sidewalk next to him, Edward pondered how good it was to be able to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale deeply, exhale slowly – he would never again take it for granted. Once the onslaught of his reviving senses ebbed to almost normal functionality, he promised himself that there would be a lot of things he would never take for granted again.

Point in fact, as soon as he got himself up off the ground and his bearings back in order, Edward planned on taking an extended holiday. He was thinking someplace where hot dogs didn't exist.

Coney Island was definitely out of the question.

* * *

Death on the other hand was working himself into a heated frenzy.

After the bus had barreled around the wide street corner and out of sight, it had taken a moment before he snapped out of his shocked stupor. But once reality took full effect, Death went from slack-jawed incredulity to apoplectic rage in two seconds flat.

Edward choked for the second time that day when Death seized him by his tie and unceremoniously hauled him up onto unsteady legs.

"Come on, Loverboy!" Using the silk tie as a leash, Death stormed rapidly down the street, with Edward's struggling figure in tow.

"Edward, honey, where are you going? Edward…? Don't you walk away from me!"

Jessica's shriek followed their retreating backs, but Edward was too concerned with the noose around his neck to try to communicate to the overemotional woman that he really wasn't going anywhere of his own free will. Certainly not with the man he now knew to be Death Incarnate.

Grabbing hold of the bit of silk not in Death's tight fist, Edward dug his heels in and yanked backwards with both hands, throwing his whole weight into it.

Death snarled when he felt the slick fabric slip from his clenched hand. Turning around, flashing black eyes met stubborn tawny ones and Death ground his teeth until his jaw ached.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Edward, to his credit, didn't bolt as soon as he got himself free. He took his time smoothing out his ruffled jacket, loosening the wrinkled tie, and brushing off the bit of grime that layered the seat of his pants and back. Squarely planting his feet shoulder width apart, Edward logically came to the conclusion that he had nothing to fear.

After all, he was no longer dying – he was in no danger of dying either as far as Edward could tell – therefore, Death reasonably should no longer have any need of him.

Once his clothes were looking semi-decent and less like he'd been jumped in an alleyway, Edward cleared his throat politely out of habit and spoke in a clear - if slightly croaky - voice.

"Look. I see no-"

Too bad for Edward he didn't get a chance to say exactly what he didn't see, because Death's patience had short-circuited when the other man's mouth had opened.

Making sure he had a good amount of fabric in his grip this time – clutching both tie and shirtfront for added leverage – Death growled, "We don't have time for this!"

"Wha-" Another harsh yank and Edward clamped his mouth shut; obviously Death was more interested in being on the warpath than explaining his actions.

But he was going to get answers one way or another.

* * *

Almost 20 minutes later after much stalking, back tracking, and attempts at escaping, Death finally found the bus.

The giant hunk of moving metal and rubber had popped the curb, tipped onto its side, and slid into what looked like a condemned apartment building. Smoke and dust rose in thin ribbons from the wreckage, shouts and murmurs from the gathered crowd was white noise against the crunching of old brick striking the front end of the bus.

Death resisted the urge to smack his hand to his forehead; the idiot was buried in that crumbling mess.

Beside him, Edward had temporarily forgotten he was being held against his will - and upon seeing the accident - began patting himself down in search of his cellphone.

"Don't bother, Loverboy. We have our own asses to worry about."

Edward swiveled his head around – damn it, where was his cellphone? – to glare at Death.

But Death's eyes were fixed on something moving in the other direction, a sour expression twisting his lips into a grimace that didn't sit well with Edward one bit.

Leaning forward, Edward followed Death's stare.

A black limousine, shiny sleek and impossible to miss, was gliding silently away from the scene. The license plate flashed in the afternoon sun, flat black letters stark against a white background.

'STNSRYD'

Before Edward could puzzle the meaning behind the connection of the limo, Death, and more importantly – himself – a beeping went off.

Frowning to himself, Edward patted his right pocket out of reflex, half-expecting to feel the familiar shape of his cell against his thigh.

"God, please.. please… pleasepleaseplease…"

He watched passively as Death squinted up at the sky, the grimace on his face getting deeper and deeper with each muttered supplication, while a reluctant hand unclipped a cheap pager from a belt loop.

Edward dryly mused if now would be a good time to ask what the hell was going on.

Taking a steadying breath, Death held the pager up to his face – one eye screwed shut and the other a tiny slit - taking in the flashing electronic display.

"Shit."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: I just wanted to point out that this chapter contains **semi-graphic sex**. You have been warned.

**Chapter 2 – St. Peter's Heavenly Cleaners**

"I don't understand. Why do I - ?"

Black eyes scrunched shut in annoyance. "I already told you that we have to meet with the assholes in charge. Stop nagging; you're re – get back here!"

Death didn't even slow his stride when he reached out and pulled Edward back up onto the sidewalk.

It was a poor attempt really; Edward had long since given up on getting out of whatever mysterious obligations he was being held to.

After the pager had gone off, Death grumbled something about 'being summoned' and 'unholy machinations' before once again dragging Edward off to another random – but no doubt – important destination. At least this time it seemed as if the other man knew where they were going. Edward himself knew that they were headed in the same direction as the limousine, but other than that, he was still hopelessly lost.

And Death was being extremely tightlipped about the whole thing; Edward couldn't decide if it was because he didn't have an answer or he was forbidden from giving him that information.

Or it could be option C - Death knew the answers to his questions but was too much of a socially inept prick to give him the time of day.

Edward was willing to bet the latter.

Keeping himself paced a couple of steps behind Death, Edward watched as Death rummaged around his jacket pockets, swearing the entire time. A crumpled up box of cigarettes was his reward after a few moments of searching but the smile that came with it turned into a furious scowl when the box was discovered to be empty.

Death chucked it in the gutter where it floated in a foul stream of oil and water and Edward seriously considered the possibility that this could all be in his head. Perhaps a form of shock from the obstruction of oxygen flow to his brain which then caused a hallucinatory state. Was that possible…? Maybe he hadn't miraculously recovered as he thought he had and was in fact in a coma of some sort.

Either way, Edward – in his painfully unimaginative point of view – was beginning to think that Death wasn't real.

Scrutinizing Death's stalking figure, Edward carefully took in every small detail, from the long blond hair pulled into a half-assed ponytail to the metal chain swinging at the side of his hip.

Edward shook his head; the 'man' before him was just too…ordinary. The only part of him that hinted at anything fantastical was the black eyes however he knew that it wasn't impossible for someone to have them…

Supposing he traded up the leather jacket, torn jeans, and smokes for a billowing black robe, over-sized sickle, and skeletal countenance, Edward wouldn't have been inclined to doubt. Though given his predisposition to cynicism and methodical scrutiny, he didn't think he would buy into that anymore than the unshaven vulgar punk-ass who was dragging him all over the city.

"Move it, Loverboy; I've seen arthritic old grannies walk faster than you."

Actually – Edward paused mid-step – he had it.

He wasn't in a coma, nor was he hallucinating. He was dreaming.

Edward let out a startled laugh.

That had to be it. The near death experience, Jessica's confession, even the accident – it was all some symbolic bullshit his mind had fabricated in the depths of sleep.

Coming to a complete stop, Edward paid no attention to the snarling and unspeakable threats to his person from Death as he reasoned with himself. He'd spent a grueling amount of time at the office; he estimated that he had worked almost 18-hour days for the entirety of the week – including the weekend – and that hadn't stopped him from plowing right on into the next week after that.

The lack of sleep that came with such a schedule was bound to catch up with him sooner or later.

Basically, what it all came down to was he'd simply pushed himself too hard, hadn't spent enough time on anything else besides work, and this was his mind's way of getting back at him for it.

Satisfied that he had it all figured out, Edward came out of his introspection with a much clearer head on his shoulders and a certain indifference toward – well – everything.

After all, it was just a dream.

With that firmly in mind, Edward didn't struggle when he finally noticed that Death's hand yet again had a hold on him - this time gripping his shirtsleeve - and was pulling him along roughly… to what appeared to be a run-down Laundromat.

"St. Peter's Heavenly Cleaners? What is this supposed to be; some buried regret for never attending church?" Edward chuckled, shaking his head. This couldn't get any stranger.

Death's mouth curled into a derisive smirk, "You think it's funny now. You won't be laughing once you become the new gopher for the Fates. Consider your precious Free Will suspended until further notice; I hope you enjoy kissing powdery white ass."

Edward was unimpressed; he bit his lip to keep from laughing harder. "Fates? So I'm going to meet with three grey old hags that pass around an eyeball while predicting the future?"

Approaching the front of the building, Death's smirk became a toothy mockery of a smile. "This isn't the Disney Channel, asshole. Besides, you're not that special."

Before Edward could come up with another sarcastic retort, Death wrenched open the door to the Laundromat and promptly shoved him inside.

Stumbling over the lip of the entryway, Edward heard the tinkling of bells over his head. Not quite able to catch himself in time, he collided with the broad side of a washing machine. Rubbing at the sting he felt from his lower abdomen making intimate contact with the metal object, Edward couldn't help a slight flinch when he heard the metallic shnick of a bolt sliding home.

A smidgen of unease flittered in the pit of his stomach; Edward frowned at the feeling. He tried to recall what he had for dinner last night but drawing a blank, Edward figured he had skipped it in favor of going over something work related. Which meant it had probably been quite a while since his last meal and naturally his guts were letting him know now that he needed to eat.

But what was he to do about it? Dreaming - as he most certainly was - Edward wasn't sure he could wake himself up long enough to go off in search of something edible. Then again…what if he dreamed that he was eating - materialized a plate of sandwiches or whatever - would that be enough to distract him until he actually ate?

Edward patted his stomach absently when it gurgled at the thought of food. Might as well give it a shot. Focusing, Edward tried to conjure up the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Don't concentrate too hard, son. You'll give yourself a headache."

Taken aback by this new voice, which unlike Death's perpetual growl held a tone similar to that of the clear resonance of a bronze bell, Edward glanced down the aisle of washers to see the man who had distracted him – and was instantly struck blind.

The man was positively glowing. Not glowing as in 'he-had-a-healthy-glow-to-his-skin-takes-good-care-of-himself' type of glow but a 'just-looked-directly-at-the-sun-retinas-are-going-up-in-flames' type of glowing. Golden hair so bright it seemed to be metallic, pale skin so white it was like soapstone come to life – and Edward swore that there was a ray of light shining down on him from the ceiling.

…And where was that singing coming from? Edward hadn't seen a stereo on his way in, though it wasn't as if he had looked around for one in the first place.

Despite his eyes watering profusely and the annoying development of sunspots in his field of vision, Edward couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the dazzling figure. He knew he was ogling like an idiot but there was something about the man….

"Careful, Carlisle, you're going to melt the poor boy's eyes right out of his skull and then what use will he be to you?"

Edward felt his head turn as if on an axis, sliding reluctantly away from the man – Carlisle, was it? – to gape instead at the tuxedo clad personage sitting primly at a small table, looking the total opposite of radiant.

Almost everything about him oozed dark shadows; inky black hair to polished black shoes. In fact the only thing that could have been considered light about this new man might have been his skin, but it had such a colorless quality to it that Edward had no problem envisioning him living in a place where there was no natural source of illumination.

That wasn't even mentioning his eyes. Between the blood red leer and the wickedly welcoming smile on his face, Edward couldn't decide if he wanted to writhe uncontrollably on the floor or crash through the glass door and run as far as his legs could carry him.

Luckily, Edward was saved from becoming trapped in that bloody gaze when a pair of muscular arms wrapped him up in a bear hug and lifted him clean off his feet.

"Edward, bro, what are you doing here?"

"Emmett? Get off of me, you're going to break my ribs!" Edward winced when Emmett laughed right in his ear, maintaining his tight grip around Edward's middle.

Feeling as if his bones were being crushed into a fine powder, Edward kicked his legs frantically. "EMMETT!"

Relenting, Emmett let go of Edward and in lieu of hugging the snot out of him opted to sling an arm around his neck, much to Edward's annoyance. "Edward, you won't believe this. I can't remember how I got here, man, but that guy there – the one with the seriously funky red eyes? I can't get away from him! Like I woke up, and seriously, dude, I try to walk more than, I don't know, a couple of steps away from him and I get sick! The room starts spinning and there's this gut wrenching pain and next thing you know – BOOM – I'm on the ground!"

Edward – for his part not gagging violently from Emmett's breath washing over his face - tried to lean as far away from his drunken brother as he could without throwing them off balance. "That wouldn't have anything to do with the amount of alcohol you've had to drink would it?"

Before Emmett could answer him with even more confused babble, Death finally spoke up from his reclined position against the doorframe, drawing everyone's attention to himself. "I hate to intrude but could we maybe get on with the fucking meeting already? Now that everyone has had their moment of glory, I'd really like to get this shit over with."

The man with red eyes chuckled snidely, "Because you would know all about shit, wouldn't you, James?"

Death, or James – Edward wished these people came with name tags – clenching his hands into fists, and growled back venomously, "Fuck you, Aro."

Standing up, Aro started sauntering over to James, his previous smile turning positively evil in its glee, "Why certainly."

James recoiled, sliding along the wall to stay out of reach; he shook his head furiously to dislodge the visual assault that came with Aro's response. "Eauaghh!"

Aro delighted with James' disgust regardless of being so wholeheartedly rejected, moved to return to his seat, chortling under his breath, "Then you shouldn't have offered."

James was too preoccupied with treating himself to a healthy dose of brain bleach to snipe back with a caustic remark.

"That's enough. I'm calling the meeting to order."

Edward – admittedly disappointed that the show was being put to an end – allowed his focus to drift to the back of the room, careful not to make eye contact with Aro as he did so.

Markedly less brilliant – as if someone had placed a shade around a naked light bulb - Carlisle smiled graciously at Edward. "I apologize for their rude behavior; no doubt it is contributing to the questions you must surely have." Sighing, Carlisle clasped his hands behind his back, hesitant on how to proceed with what needed to be said.

James, recovered from his brief love affair with selective amnesia, had no such hesitation. "How about we start with why there were fucking two E. Cullens at the same address! Did you jackasses really expect me to –"

"How hard could it have been for you when the fated soul all but fell into your arms? You're the one who assumed; as the saying goes –"

"Aro! Please exercise more restra – "

James thrust a hand in Edward's direction. "The guy was lying on the God d-,"

"James, will you please not take my name in v-"

"Will somebody just tell me what the hell is going on already?"

All eyes landed on Edward.

Emmett – with his arm still slung around Edward's neck – patted him on the shoulder, "You and me both, bro."

Breaking the silence that came with Edward's outburst, Carlisle kept his eyes on Edward as he addressed the other men in the room, "This is how we'll begin; Edward, and only Edward, will have the privilege to speak. Everyone else, excluding myself as I will be the one answering his questions, will be given the chance to converse once he is assured that I have divulged all the information he requires."

Carlisle waited a couple of seconds to ensure that no one had anything to say against his pronouncement before he spread his arms out in supplication, asking Edward plainly, "What is it that you want to know, son?"

Glancing around, Edward was astonished when not one of them argued back.

At least he knew who the boss of this ragtag group of oddballs was.

Edward – glad for the opportunity to rant - took a deep breath, "First off, who the fuck are you people; why did this asshole drag me here; what is Emmett doing here; and what does any of it have to do with me?"

"One question at a time," Carlisle dropped one hand to his side and motioned with the other, "As you know, I am Carlisle, the man sitting in the chair is Aro, and the man who brought you here is James. However, you would know us better as God, the Devil, and Death."

…..What?

Edward raised an eyebrow at him, "Wait a minute. Let me make sure I have this right. You're God?" Carlisle nodded. "He's the Devil?" Another nod. "And he's Death?" Nod.

Carlisle's expression remained placid even when Edward doubled over with roaring laughter.

"Okay, right. That makes perfect sense." Pointing at Carlisle – God! – he managed to talk around his mad giggling, "So you're The Almighty? The Father? Boy, you really need to look at the murals of yourself more closely. Where is the scraggly brown hair, the long white robe and strappy sandals? You've got it all wrong."

"And you!" Edward whipped around to flop his hand at Aro, "Where are the horns? Shouldn't you be surrounded by the flames of Hell, threatening to devour my soul in a booming voice or something?" Edward was gasping for air at this point; he couldn't stop laughing.

"And don't even get me started on you!" He nodded towards James, "You look like you just rolled off a park bench!"

Hiccupping, Edward shook his head, still snickering to himself, "Where is my subconscious getting this from? This is probably the craziest dream I've had in my entire life!"

Carlisle kept quiet, his solemn gold eyes fixed on Edward as he carried on.

"You know what? I think I'll answer my own questions." Shrugging Emmett's limp arm from around his shoulders, Edward paced in the small space between washers.

"Carlisle; you represent the lack of a father figure in my life. That old resentment that I never got over even after I decided I wouldn't allow myself to rely on anyone else. Actually, your appearance was probably triggered by that nice photographer that I worked with last week saying something about how I looked like I'd be good dad. It was those damn baby photos he pulled out of his wallet. Even though I said I wasn't really the family type, I still thought about it and obviously I didn't stomp on that idea hard enough to completely get rid of it." Edward rubbed his furrowed brow; he kept his eyes on his moving feet as he continued pacing.

"Aro….I'm not sure exactly what you are. Maybe you're just the personification of every evil little thought I've had. I'll admit I've been feeling more depressed with certain things, a little disenchanted about my life," Edward snorted, "Disenchanted about Jessica is more like it. All she does is nag, blow my money, and except for the occasional good screw, we have no reason to be around each other." Edward roughly ran his hands through his hair, becoming increasingly more frazzled with every word that burst from his lips.

"But without her, I don't have anybody. I mean, there's you, Em, but we don't hang out the way we used to. Between you're drinking habits and my work load; well, there's nothing else to say about that," Edward exhaled forcefully, "All right, all right, my life's a fucking wreck and I hate every second of it. Are you guys happy now?"

Emotions spent, Edward's pacing came to a sudden stop as he slumped against one of the washers, giving himself a second to let his words sink in.

Swallowing to alleviate the cottony dryness in his mouth, Edward let his eyes roam around the room.

"Well, this has been fun but I believe I've met my quota for psychoanalytic bullshit for the day. I'm getting the fuck out of here," pushing up from his slouched posture, Edward glanced from Carlisle to Aro one last time. "You know, if my mind can come up with all this nonsense, why can't it give me a damn Snickers bar?"

Grumbling to himself, Edward took a step towards the door but paused when Carlisle held out his hand to him, a knowing smile on his face.

Edward took the offered candy, ripped the wrapper open with his teeth and crammed half the bar in his mouth in one bite, "Fffanx."

Walking over to the entrance, Edward flicked the bolt open, calling over his shoulder on his way out, "I'll see you later, Emmett, and try to lay off the alcohol, will you."

A couple of beats of silence after Edward's brisk exit, James blurted out amusedly, "He left."

Emmett – being hopelessly confused like most heavily intoxicated men tend to be – tried to follow Edward but didn't manage more than a few footsteps before his legs suddenly gave out on him.

Aro tittered, "I didn't give you permission to leave, big boy."

"…Don't tell me I'm supposed to drag his delusional ass back here because –"

"Let him go, James. We'll save the meeting for another day."

"Great. Fantastic. So about the reason behind this meeting, you know the mix-up that happened earlier today…given the severity of the circumstances I was thinking that I should be given a bre- I mean, suitable punishment for my actions. A suspensi-"

"No."

"Mother fu-"

* * *

Ding.

Elevator doors slid apart easily and Edward visibly relaxed at the familiar scenery.

He'd made good on his word. After leaving the shabby Laundromat, he'd hailed a cab, demanding to be taken directly to his condo.

On the way there, Edward had wiped his thoughts clean of everything, content to just stare out of the smudged window at the people going about their business.

Closing his eyes, he imagined the king sized bed waiting for him in his bedroom, the plush down comforter and pillow mattress; Edward felt like a twenty four hour long nap was exactly the best way to bring this dream to a close.

Edward - head filled with comfy beds and sawing logs - walked off the elevator right as metal doors were about to slide shut, and pulled the card key to the apartment from his wallet.

How could he feel this tired when he was already asleep?

Stepping inside his home, Edward began stripping down right there in the foyer, dropping his tie on the wood floor and kicking off his shoes, not caring when they banged off a wall leaving minute black marks. Moving through the living room, he unbuttoned his dress shirt threw it on the glass coffee table, then slipped off his belt, discarding that next to his work desk.

Coming to the double doors of the master bedroom, Edward – pants partially undone and hanging off slim hips – shoved them open.

Jessica, in a messy tangle of limbs and sheets, squealed, "Edward! What are you doing here?"

Edward, divesting himself of his slacks, ignored her.

Walking over to the bed, he yanked off the blankets and stared down at a man he recognized as the doorman.

"Get out."

The man didn't need to be told twice; jumping out off the bed, he ducked around Edward and made a speedy getaway, picking up Edward's pants instead of his own in his haste.

Sputtering, Jessica glared at him as he took off his socks and underwear, "Well, aren't you going to say anything to me?"

Stark naked, Edward climbed onto the bed, and pushing Jessica onto her back, he spit into his hand and fisting his cock, stroked himself to full hardness.

"Edward, what the hell is the matter with you? Don't you care about –"

"Shut up."

Grunting, Edward plunged into her already wet pussy, and began thrusting his hips rapidly, driving himself towards his own release.

Fifty-two pumps later, Edward pulled out abruptly, grabbing his shaft firmly and emptying himself onto Jessica's heaving chest.

Both mentally and physically exhausted, Edward collapsed onto the bed and promptly rolled over, taking the comforter with him.

"Edward? Edward, what about me?"

Smacking him on the arm, Jessica left the room when Edward started snoring.

* * *

Edward was extremely comfortable.

Wrapped up in downy softness, cocooned in pleasant warmth, Edward was waking up from the best sleep he'd had in what seemed like ages. Stretching out on his back, he groaned in pleasure, floating on the edge of consciousness. Edward wanted to hold onto this feeling for as long as he could. To hell with being responsible, he could spend eternity right where he was - or for the next twenty-four hours, definitely.

"…True to your heart/you must be true to your heart/that's when the heavens will part…"

Cringing, Edward burrowed farther into the comforter as his ears were assaulted by the loud music.

Damn Jessica and her horrid preference for crappy boy bands!

"…Open your eyes/your heart will tell you no lies/and when you're true to your heart/I know it's gonna lead you straight to me…"

Gritting his teeth, Edward felt like his happy mood was being massacred with rusted kitchen utensils.

"Would you turn it down, woman? Some of us prefer sleeping at the butt crack of dawn!"

With several muffled whacks and a hiss of static the song cut off.

Thank God.

Yawning, Edward let his eyelids droop. Without anything else barging in on his peaceful morning, Edward was more than ready to doze off; eager to pay off the sleep debt he'd accumulated over the past couple of weeks.

Right as he was nodding off someone snatched the blanket clean off of him.

"What the –"

"Auggh!"

Edward - disoriented and bewildered - fell off the edge of the bed onto scratchy carpet, only half-aware of the cursing coming from the other side of the room.

Fuck, there was no stopping the bitch!

Rubbing the gunk from his eyes, Edward sat up - ready to curse Jessica for being so damn insensitive - when he was hit upside the head by a pair of jeans.

"Put some fucking clothes on, we've got a long day ahead of us."

Edward went stock-still.

A sinking in the pit of his stomach came with the apprehension that Jessica's voice wasn't capable of producing such a low - unmistakably male – tone. And this time, he didn't think he could blame it on a lack of food.

Slowly - very slowly and with a voice in his head screaming that this-was-not-possible - Edward forced himself to look up at Death's – James's - scowling visage.

James, keeping his head turned to avoid seeing anything he would have to obliterate from his memory later, sniggered at Edward's gawking expression.

"Still think you're dreaming, Loverboy?"


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Bad Moon Rising**

"Are you always this slow, or did your graceful descent from the bed damage your brain?"

Edward shook his head rapidly from side to side, but didn't move from his sprawled position on the floor. Clutching the worn fabric of the pair of pants he'd been hit with in tight fists, he forced his slack mouth into motion.

"Ho-where-this isn't-the hell-"

Rolling his eyes, James slouched up against the wall, and dropping the boot that he'd used to beat the stereo into silence, crossed his arms with an exaggerated sigh. "Stop blabbering and fucking put your pants on already; I don't need you rubbing your bare ass on my carpet after having already defiled my bed. You'll be washing those sheets by the way."

Edward, partly managing to put a stopper on the word vomit spilling forth from his lips, reluctantly pushed himself onto shaky legs and into the jeans he'd been holding onto like a lifeline.

Waiting until the other man was decently covered up before speaking again, James pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the migraine he felt building there from taking over. He briefly entertained the idea of just leaving the idiot to stew in disorientation long enough to grab a strong cup of coffee, but figured he'd be better off getting a head start on the many explanations that would take up the better part of the morning.

Satisfied that he wouldn't see anything he really rather could live without viewing, James leveled a tired glare at his – dare he say – ward.

"To answer the obvious, you are no longer in Kansas, Loverboy. Wherever you ran off to yesterday - bluntly put - you've been moved from there to here."

Raking his hands through his hair and wincing when fingers snagged on sleep tangled ends, Edward coughed, "And here would be…?"

"The apartment above the damned Laundromat, which unfortunately for the both us, will be your new home."

"You're….kidding, right?"

James bit back a snarl and set his glare from stun to kill. "What part of this are you not getting? The life you had before? Gone, depleted, over and done with, expired, dead and buried! Whether you like it or not, whether you want to or not – you are bound!"

Matching glare for glare, he snapped back, "Bound by what?" Edward flung his hands out, annoyance filtering in with confusion now. "I didn't -," skittering around the sharp memory that came with what he wanted to say, Edward growled lowly and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't what? Didn't die?" James threw the question back at the distraught man, sneering cruelly when it made him flinch. "Doesn't matter. You might not have been marked for Judgment but your life is no longer your own…immortality has a price." Pushing away from the wall violently, James turned to the open dresser next to him, going back to the forgotten task of getting dressed.

"…Immortality…?" Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you mean-"

Yanking a rumpled white shirt over his head, James grunted, "It's not like that. It's not as clear cut as you might expect it to be."

Brow furrowed, Edward was about to tell the infuriating bastard to stop being vague and explain what the hell that meant when James beat him to the punch.

"Just get your ass in gear and meet us downstairs. Much as I'm enjoying the rest," this was said with a heaping spoonful of sarcasm, "we aren't going anywhere until you're ready to do the job."

Edward watched blankly as James - after tugging on a scruffy pair of cat boots - strode out the bedroom door, apparently done with the relatively one-sided conversation.

Sighing wearily, Edward flopped back on the bed, his head swimming with new impossibilities.

Maybe - with enough time and therapy - he could have accepted the fact that he'd had a run in with Death. Realistically, he knew that it was going to happen one way or another, so even a near death experience – however bizarre it turned out to be – could be easily regarded as a normal human occurrence.

Immortality, on the other hand, was the type of fairy tale tripe children and mythology geeks indulged in.

Edward shook his head. That line of thinking wouldn't get him anywhere. As much as he wanted to internalize, analyze, and rationalize – all it had done thus far was hold him back from whatever it was he needed to know. Judging by the way he'd ended up in such unfamiliar territory – again – whatever it was didn't have any intentions of leaving him alone either.

Which pretty much just landed him back to square one; a huge failing for him since Edward abhorred going around in circles – didn't matter whether it was his fault or not.

Jaw set in grim determination, he figured there was nothing for it other than to go downstairs and listen to the fat lady sing.

Edward simply hoped his sanity would survive the encounter intact.

* * *

Wincing with every other step down the dilapidated staircase, Edward paused on the narrow landing at the sound of muffled voices through the door.

"….doesn't need….not going to…."

"….guide him….your responsibility…."

"…gladly take….according to the…."

"…mmhgghm…."

Edward sidled closer to the shut door, ears pricked up with the knowledge that they could only be talking about him. Straining to hear over the rumbling of washers and dryers, he was disappointed when the conversation tapered off, just as though the people on the other side knew Edward was eavesdropping.

A couple of tense seconds ticked by before Edward forced himself to reach for the doorknob, except he would have preferred to stand in the gloom of the stairwell for a little while longer. Possibly until the End of Time, or until they agreed to let him return to his normal life - he wasn't too choosy at the moment. It didn't help that the silence thrumming underneath the loud appliances made it seem as if he were about to step out onto a stage – stark naked.

Steeling his nerves, Edward twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Bright morning sunlight greeted his tired eyes, filtering in despite the grime covering the large storefront windows. The dull roar of laundry appliances magnified temporarily as Edward edged around the door before settling down into comfortable background noise - toneless and easily ignored.

Unfortunately for Edward he was anything but.

Three pairs of eyes watched him enter the room and Edward wished more than anything he'd thought to at least grab a shirt from the dresser on his way down.

"Edward, you're terribly late, you naughty, naughty boy."

That wouldn't have sounded quite so dirty, Edward thought wretchedly, if it wasn't accompanied by a deliberately lascivious once over and a smirk that made him want to cover up like a blushing virgin bride.

Doing an about-face – he wasn't running away; he just needed a shirt, jacket, a pair of gloves and socks, a mask if James had one lying around – Edward twisted the door handle he'd never let go of, shoved forward with his shoulder…and smacked up against a solid cement wall.

Stunned, Edward stepped back to gape at the cold speckled cement.

"I must apologize, my son, but pressing matters should be addressed in a timely manner. I'm afraid we have waited long enough."

Edward ignored the soft-spoken voice in favor of scrutinizing the wall from top to bottom. He was terrified to note that the doorknob he was currently denting in was fused to the surface, an odd fixture that served no purpose to him now.

"Edward."

Attempting to keep his terror to a manageable bladder-control-termination-imminent level, the shaken young man reluctantly turned around.

Halfway down the right side aisle, standing next to an open dryer and a veritable mountain of spotless white button down shirts heaped atop a washer on his left, Carlisle – the man who referred to himself as God – offered an empathetic smile. "I admit the dramatics are over the top, however…old tricks are often the best ones."

Edward, face painfully blank, asked the impossible. "How did you make the door disappear?"

Golden eyes lowered contritely, "It is within my power to do many things, some people call them miracles and others would claim them to be phenomena." Carlisle clasped his hands together, "What matters is not the name in which they use to identify such things, it is the belief that such things can – and will – occur."

The gentle smile melted, "Be that as it may…," Carlisle thoughtfully picked up a shirt from the pile of laundry he'd been folding and held it out to Edward, "It is not what other people believe in that concerns me at this time."

Every nerve in his body screamed at him not to trust even the most ordinary of objects, but Edward didn't want to be visually molested by the red-eyed man at the front end of the room either.

Edward snatched the garment before he could think too hard about why that wasn't such a good idea, and shrugged it on in one smooth tug. He tuned out the blatantly dejected sigh that followed.

Concentrating on the simple task of buttoning up his shirt, Edward muttered, "What difference does it make what I believe?"

"All the difference in the world," Carlisle went back to folding clothes, content to finally having the other man's full attention. "You will find your new position in life to be much more enjoyable if you are open to the forces which govern it."

A sharp cough that sounded remarkably like 'bullshit' came from James, who was hunched up against the Laundromat entrance, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Carlisle spared him an unimpressed look.

James shrugged offhandedly and went back to his previous activity of pretending he was the only one there.

"See, this is where you lose me," Edward groused, "Everyone keeps telling me I'm – that I – what does God, or immortality, or whatever else you lunatics have thrown at me, have anything to do with nearly choking to death on a fucking hot dog?"

Carlisle - still meticulously folding top after top - answered frankly, "Everything."

Floundering, Edward raked both hands through his hair, not caring when several copper strands tore free with the frantic action.

Carlisle sighed, "Calm yourself, Edward, so that I might explain the facts in their entirety."

After a moment's breadth, Edward regained his composure.

Pausing - just to be certain the other man was finished with his tantrum - Carlisle continued in profound seriousness. "Yesterday, at precisely 12:34 am, you were mistakenly chosen by Death to receive Final Judgment. As a result –"

Edward couldn't help interrupting, "Mistakenly? How does Death make mistakes?"

"When Death exercises a poor work ethic and general disregard for conventionality," Carlisle deadpanned, placing another folded up button down on top of a precariously balanced stack. "In any case, while Emmett did in fact expire, he was not allowed to - shall we say - crossover as he wasn't Touched by Death's hand," moving over to the next washer to start a fresh pile, he carried on, "instead, Death attempted to extract your soul from it's living vessel, an effort that fundamentally altered your state of being."

"But if the person isn't 'expiring' as you put it," Edward crossed his arms absently as he spoke, mindful of his phrasing, "why does anything happen to that person at all? Either you are dead or alive; there is no in between…" Well, unless you counted ghosts or those stuck in a coma, but Edward was sure they didn't apply, since both could still be classified as one or the other. "I mean - shouldn't the person carry on with their life, especially if it wasn't their time?"

"The ability to perform an action should not be confused with the ability to control the consequences of that action," Carlisle pushed aside his laundry – where were all those shirts coming from? – to look Edward square in the eye, "For example, you grab yourself a drink - a tall glass full of water - and remembering something that needed to be done, you leave it on the counter, thinking to come back to it later. While you are gone, someone else comes in with the intent to clean the mess of dishes in the sink. Without thinking or considering, that person grabs your drink, assumes that whoever was drinking from it had forgotten it was there, and pours your water down the drain. Eventually you come back, looking for your glass, and find it drying on the dish rack. Seemingly not an issue, until you go to refill that same glass, realizing too late that you emptied the pitcher when you first came in."

Carlisle stopped.

Edward had dropped his arms from their crossed position over his chest, letting them drop limply to his sides, and there was an expression of mild bewilderment on his face; he'd wanted an explanation, not a fucking allegorical narrative on beverages.

Attentive to Edward's resurfacing irritation, Carlisle opted to reiterate summarily.

"Think of your life as that glass of water, a glass that has been filled from the freshest spring. Imagine now, someone having dumped that glass, and you – left with an empty tumbler and an unquenchable thirst – have access only to the sink tap…" Carlisle trailed off, his amber eyes focused unwaveringly on Edward.

Caught under that relentless stare - somewhere in the back of his mind - Edward recognized the maneuver Carlisle was trying to pull.

Beneath all that metaphorical garbage, there was an underlying message that was steadily driving him into the proverbial corner. Finally comprehending where this was going, Edward decided to play along with the ruse, while inwardly seething at the lack of control – or rather – the lack of choice.

To anyone else, it might have appeared that there were two solutions to the problem – either filling the glass from the tap or going without – but Edward knew that the whole point was to submit to the unfair circumstances and take what was available; even if what was available turned out to be nothing more than a pale imitation of what could have been.

Conceding the battle – Carlisle won this round, but he was far from winning the war – Edward asked resignedly, "What kind of disease did I get from drinking the tap water?"

"Immortality is not a disease, son. It is an existence between life and death," smiling serenely, Carlisle went back to his previous task of folding and stacking. Slipping into a more airy tone of voice, he continued, "While you still have a physical body, your biological clock is no longer ticking; that is, you will not age. Everything else will function much as it always has. Your hair will grow longer, you'll feel hunger, and will require the recommended eight hours of sleep a night. Yet, because your internal clockwork has ground to a halt, you will be unable to die."

Edward made a face, "That seems…somewhat contradictory. If my body is incapable of dying, then shouldn't it be as if I were a living statue?"

Pushing away another towering pile of shirts, Carlisle shook his head minutely, "True, what I just described to you defies the most basic laws of nature. But you are only taking into acc-"

"Fascinating as this all may be, my prized boy is getting hungry."

Edward did a double take. He'd been so absorbed in the conversation that he'd forgotten that there were other people in the room.

The red-eyed man, whom Edward eventually remembered was named Aro and - he shuddered - the Devil, grinned invitingly. "Why don't you have a seat next to me and have a bite?"

Starvation, thy name is Edward Cullen.

Carlisle's voice dropped like a stone, leaden with admonition, "Aro."

Flicking his fingers at the unspoken warning, Aro commented flippantly, "You misunderstand me entirely. I only thought he could partake of the morning meal that his brother is enjoying so immensely; I have yet to see you offer him anything other than superfluous information and," his face distorted nastily, "mollycoddling."

"I am not 'mollycoddling'. He has a right to know –"

"He's a human! Nothing more than a plaything to –"

Momentarily drawn into the argument – Edward was amused to discover that the two men bickered not unlike an old married couple - it didn't fully sink in that Aro had mentioned his brother until he looked around for a place to sit – his legs had long ago fallen asleep from standing - and he saw Emmett at the table next to Aro.

Astonished that his brother hadn't noticed him as soon as he'd walked into the room – and immediately tackled him, as was his usual habit – he understood the reason why as he headed over to where Emmett was sitting. Partially hidden by the top control panel of a washing machine and head ducked down low behind a three-tiered salver overflowing with what appeared to be every breakfast food imaginable, Edward knew that nothing short of a tornado was going to get him away from that table. Ever since Edward could remember, Emmett was the epitome of a walking black hole. If there was anything even remotely edible within his reach, he was guaranteed to eat it, no questions asked.

Edward smiled to himself, a bubble of contentment settling lightly in his chest at that thought.

With all the madness being thrust upon him, the unfamiliar – unfair – circumstances tearing him away from his life, he was happy that at least some things were still the same. Edward and Emmett weren't close – never had been truthfully – but that didn't mean he couldn't find comfort in the fact that not even death could change Emmett's eating habits.

Drawing up to the side of the table - the side where he wasn't within easy reach of a certain Unholy Spirit - Edward wiped the seat beside his older brother clean of wayward crumbs and sat down with an audible groan of relief. The walk over to the chair had gotten the blood circulating again, but the pins and needles had made the last couple of steps painful to the point he'd considered using the line of washers as a crutch. Bouncing his legs to work off the residual tingling, Edward grabbed a napkin and swiftly unfolded it, preparing his shield for when Emmett would turn to greet him with a boisterous hello and a mouth full of food.

Five minutes later…

…How was he still eating?

Edward, arms unconsciously poised in case any slobbery debris came flying his way, stared on as Emmett polished off what would be his third plate of breakfast – not counting what he'd had before Edward had seated himself – with no discernible signs of stopping.

From what he remembered, Emmett could easily pack away an entire deep dish pepperoni pizza by himself, but this…. There was something mechanical in the way he ate, as his fork ceaselessly traveled from the plate to his mouth, loaded with eggs and hash browns, and the glazed droop to his eyes that made Edward think that the upstairs operator had taken an extended coffee break.

It wasn't right.

Edward leaned forward, and ignoring every OCD driven impulse being hot-wired to his limbs that said 'Warning: Now Entering Ground Zero', snapped his fingers in front of Emmett's face, "Hey. Emmett, you've had enough."

Blunt teeth came dangerously close to chomping off his fingers.

Jerking back, Edward checked to make sure there wasn't any damage while suppressing the urge to grab the forgotten knife lying next to Emmett's elbow. Butter knife or not, it would still hurt if he stabbed him with it. Pushing aside his need for revenge – and worry that his brother had nearly made him an amputee – Edward tried again, this time keeping his extremities to himself.

Edward raised his voice to a shout, "Emmett! Stop. You're going to make yourself sick if you keep eating like this!" More like explode – or would he? Carlisle had said he was dead so…nothing should happen to his physical body…except he was eating food and he'd felt teeth graze his fingertips….and he'd hugged him yesterday…if Emmett was truly dead shouldn't he be intangible...?

…Ugh, migraine.

Filing away that particular piece of puzzle for further speculation at a later date, Edward waited for a reaction.

Still nothing.

Frown deepening, Edward ran a frustrated hand through his hair and tried a more direct approach. Waiting until Emmett's fork was tucked safely away inside his mouth – as far from the plate as it was going to get, he was sure – Edward snatched the plate from his brother with a lightning fast hand.

Not exactly the best plan he could have come up with now that he thought about it. The way Emmett was so dead set on chowing down enough food to put even Takeru Kobayashi to shame, Edward had no idea how he'd react to this last intervention. For all Edward knew, he was two steps away from being disemboweled by an eating utensil in an effort to get back the heavily laden All-You-Can-Eat-Las-Vegas-Buffet size dinner plate clutched in his hands, courtesy of one gluttonous old-

Wait a second.

Temporarily forgetting his anxiety of being potentially mauled with four pronged instruments of hungry vengeance, Edward repeated the word to himself to make sure he was keeping up with the latest detour to his train of thought; really though, he needn't have felt apprehension at all for the sake of his well-being over the confiscation of Emmett's plate since his brother had smoothly adjusted to that minor issue by eating directly from the towering salver.

Gluttonous.

His brother was being gluttonous.

Dropping the plate onto the table with a sharp clatter, Edward jerked up out of his seat to glower heatedly at Aro, knowing deep in his gut that this was his doing.

Aro must have stopped arguing with Carlisle some time ago as his attention was already focused entirely on Edward, red eyes flashing ominously, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. There was an underlying maliciousness emanating from him, like he was daring Edward to do something stupid and reckless. Inwardly he retracted from the feeling, immediately wary of how his emotions tried to swell up in response to it.

Or, he corrected himself, how his anger tried to swell up in response to it, that nameless compulsion which clearly had a hold on Emmett.

Daring a glance over in Carlisle's direction, he entertained the thought of yelling at him instead of Aro – no use in trying anything with the asshole responsible, he cursed venomously – but presumed that if he hadn't done something to stop Aro now, he probably wasn't going to. The apologetic set of his mouth and reluctance to meet Edward's accusatory eyes confirmed for him that he was getting no help from God on this one.

From James' slumped posture on the floor, coffee mug tipped over in a lax grip and his cigarette burning dangerously close to grubby fingertips, Edward didn't expect any help there either; unless he wanted tips on how to sleep in the most uncomfortable positions known to man.

With a soft noise that didn't fully convey just how downright sick Edward was of being left to find his own way, he put all his strength into restraining Emmett's arms. Wrapping his hands steely around his brother's wrists, Edward nearly snarled, "Emmett, listen to me! That's enough! No more – think about what you're doing and get a hold of yourself!"

Emmett struggled briefly against Edward's hold but when his mouth was devoid of food for longer than a few seconds, he stretched forward and shoved his face smack dab into a tall stack of syrup drenched blueberry pancakes and kept right on eating.

Edward gaped - jaw dropping down somewhere around his navel - but didn't let go, even if the awkward pull on Emmett's arms made him wince in sympathy.

"Oh, come on - !" Grinding his teeth together until his jaw ached and he was in danger of cracking a molar or three, Edward put his foot up against the edge of the table and simultaneously pushed and pulled, trying to put some distance between his brother and temptation. The table cooperated with his efforts by screeching across the floor about half an inch before stubbornly refusing to budge, and Emmett cooperated not at all by easily straining that extra half-inch to lick up the soggy fragments of pancake that never stood a chance.

Now later, when Edward might possibly revisit this specific part of his life in the wee hours of the morning slumped over a pint of stale beer and conversing with a bartender of questionable origins and even more questionable business operations judging by the conspicuous placement of a shiny 9mm in his snug waistband - he might stumble over the details of the next minute or so.

After Edward failed – for the fourth time for those not keeping track – to rescue Emmett from Gluttony's Thrall, he temporarily blacked out with the force of Rage that overtakes him in that moment. Subsequently he will be congratulated for his self-control by a suspicious Devil who will stare knowingly at God who will smile and gloat silently with good-natured smugness, as Edward doesn't do anything more than scream bloody murder at – well – Everything.

Yanked from his blissfully dreamless sleep at the sound of Edward's bellowing, James was far from happy with the scene he woke up to, especially when he factored in the coffee soaking the jean material on his left thigh and ass cheek and the crick in his neck. James pushed himself up with a muted groan, gingerly twisting his neck left then right to ease the strain of sore muscles. Patting the side of his jeans, James was thankful that he was the type of guy that thought sugar and cream was for pussies – coffee wasn't coffee unless it was strong enough to eat through titanium and burned on the way down – since it kept the wet spot from being tacky as well as cold.

Negligently dropping the smoldering cigarette bud on the floor, leaving it in the damp splotch next to his overturned mug, James – with the proficiency of someone who thought only of himself and his needs– tuned out and turned away from the Battle of Wills That Just Wouldn't Quit and started for the upstairs apartment. He needed a new pair of pants – James wrinkled his nose against the sharp smell of cold coffee – or maybe a shower then a change of clothes. Definitely a smoke, and if he could get the piece of shit 13 inch in his living room working, an episode of Jerry Springer to make the morning just that side of bearable.

Eager to wallow in the age-old tradition of boosting personal self-esteem through the tragedy of others - Edward didn't count as he now shared in his misery - James was acceptably miffed when his plans were put to a premature halt by a well-timed cough.

A cough that spoke volumes of how he was being a selfish prick and needed to pay attention to what he should be doing, not what he wanted to do, and when was he going to act like the responsible adult he wasn't.

In actuality, the cough wasn't anything half as bitchy as James made it sound, but that's how he took it every time he was subjected to that critical noise; God was a persistent stick in the mother fucking mud.

James kept walking but tossed casually over his shoulder, defiance a strong line in the curve of his spine, "I'll be right back, I sw-" he spluttered - one of these days he was going to learn not to lie, never in front of Him; well technically never never – omniscience is a pain in the ass like that - but in His Presence spoken lies are thrown upon the altar of integrity and strangled. "Just give me a damn minute to change and shit –" another stuttered break and James really should invest in a brain filter that actually worked.

Aro – reveling in his play with Grade A Freshmeat and public transportation leftovers – didn't take advantage.

Almost to the door – which had reappeared as it no longer needed to be nonexistent – James waved without looking back, going for casual and a 'nothing up my sleeve' innocence, "Be right back, boss."

His words garnered no response other than weighted silence and he didn't need to look to know that there was an expression not unlike that of a harried mother's plastered all over Carlisle's face to match.

James didn't let it get to him. One foot in front of the other, and the longer his retreating back wasn't met with outright opposition, the more James allowed himself to hope that his escape was the least of anyone's concern; especially God's, what with his new henchman getting owned by the competition and all.

Less than a foot away from the door, James lengthened his stride, intending to reach out and slide through the doorway in one smooth sinuous motion for the ideal getaway – so damn close! James could feel his hope sprouting into a tiny seed of something that could resemble happiness, if you stood back, squinted hard at it and used your imagination. One last giant step and a shaking hand went out at the same time – he was right there! Holy fucking shit - and James felt the world tilt curiously and quake around the edges.

Stumbling, James roughly caught himself against the door, barely staying upright and - why were his jeans down around his knees and not around his hips like they were before?

He should have fucking known it wouldn't be that easy.

Swearing and spitting vitriol, James pulled up his pants – which were conspicuously free of dampness and smelling strongly of lavender – not appreciating the sudden draft coming through his thin boxers. Once he was safely zipped and buttoned up in freshly laundered jeans – freshly laundered and brand new jeans, not that James appreciated that either – he kicked the door, wishing it was Carlisle's head and not wood his boot connected with, and swung around to walk back the way he came. James hadn't even taken three steps before there was another polite cough. "Mother fucking – what now -" he came to a furious stomping halt.

Carlisle, back to folding the endless pile of white button ups since he could do nothing to stop Aro from having his fun – at least not where Emmett was concerned - pointed to the left of James, somewhere around waist height.

A gleaming colossal mug of steaming black coffee and a new pack of cigarettes complete with a little plastic Bic lighter was set on top of the washer next to him. Eyebrow quirked, James snatched up the cigarettes and lighter, stuffed them into the pocket on the inside of his leather jacket, and picked up the coffee. Cradling the giant mug with both hands - not minding at all that he was burning the sensitive skin of his palms - took a swig of the scalding liquid. James sighed; it was the best cup of coffee he'd ever had which meant it hadn't come from the rusted brewer he had up in the apartment kitchenette. That stuff always came out tasting burnt and vaguely sludgy, no matter how many times he cleaned the damn thing. Drink in hand and nicotine stashed for later use, James resumed what he was doing before with a tiny little blip of a spring in his step. When he passed by Carlisle, he flashed him the middle-fingered salute of gratitude for his trouble.

As always, God took it with a winsome smile and infinitesimal bouncing of the shoulders that could have been silent laughter or a carefree shrug - either way it made James sick.

Sipping his coffee instead of gulping it down as was his usual practice – it really was good coffee and loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted to savor for as long as possible – he stopped next to the washer at the end of the aisle and contemplated the mess Loverboy had gotten himself into this time. Edward was still wrapped around the big idiot with a vacuum for a mouth – and thankfully - no longer screaming at the top of his lungs; he was developing a mad twitch to his left eye that didn't look too good, though. Aro was watching the proceedings with a kind of enjoyment that usually got serial killers the death sentence, but that was to be expected.

...So nothing much had changed with the exception of James' failed escape attempt. All that was left now was to figure out whether or not he wanted to get in between Aro and his new playmates. Obviously his immediate answer would be hysterical laughter with several variations of 'hell the fuck no' but that was only if he had the option of walking away in the first place. Which he'd already tried – and would certainly keep trying – besides.

Another hearty swig of coffee and James walked around the side of the table - coming up next to the struggling brothers - seizing a two-pronged fork that was sticking up out of a thick pile of rib eyes as he went. Plunking his mug down on the edge of the table, James casually tossed the fork from hand to hand, mentally 'eeny-meeny-miney-moing' over which part of the body would be best for skewering. Loverboy's brother was one big target; James was certain that he could be drunk off his ass blind and still hit the guy, there was that much of him. Then again, in his line of work, he never got to do the dirty work and this was just too good to screw up; if there's a job worth doing, then it's a job worth doing right – right? James smiled - a genuinely cheerful expression devoid of all negative emotion - for the first time in eighteen years.

Somewhere out there, another sci-fi fanboy popped into existence and quoted Star Wars for the bazillionth time.

Back and forth, the flash of cold steel in the weak light caught Edward's eye. With a suddenness that was breathtaking, his haze of madness cracked and he became keenly aware of his surroundings. Wide-eyes swept over to his right, zeroing in on James and the wickedly pointed instrument he was juggling so merrily. An iciness that started at the top of his head trickled down his spine at the sight, causing his whole body to erupt in gooseflesh. Locking his arms around Emmett, Edward molded himself to his brother as much as he could with the chair in the way and Emmett's struggling, trying in vain to act as a shield between the two men.

He fought against the stickiness in his throat, forcing words passed numb lips – this was quickly topping his list of bad days – and tried to keep his voice gentle but firm, as if he were talking to a skittish animal. "James…whatever it is you're thinking – whatever you might be planning – stop right now. I have this under control," he enunciated each word carefully, putting the full force of years spent as the leader of a successful mutli-million dollar company behind each syllable, "Let me deal with Emmett, nothing you do with that can be of any good."

"Oh, I don't know about that. It seems to me like you could use an intervention; someone to help you in your time of need," the fork stopped dancing from one hand to the other, settling in the tight grip of James' right hand, "And you don't have jack under control, so don't try that prissy bullshit on me." James drew his arm back, leveling the fork tines at Emmett's abdomen, aiming for the tender flesh a couple of inches above the hip. "When Fratboy comes out of this, remember – you fuckwits owe me."

"No, don't - !"

Right as James thrust the fork towards it's designated fleshy target, and Edward cried out in horror against this action, they both inevitably overlooked the fact that Emmett, while definitely incapacitated from doing anything productive other than pigging out, was not actually a total invalid. In all the time that James and Edward were preoccupied with their own respective narratives, Emmett was busy devouring everything on the platter that was within easy reach. When James had approached the table, he'd already cleared that particular side of the platter of all foodstuffs and was quickly moving on to the outer edges – sides that required him to stretch as far as he could with Edward wrapped around him like an octopus and the table digging into his midsection. For that reason, in the couple of heart stopping seconds that it took for the fork tines to bury themselves into Emmett's side, that little variable came into effect as the last donut out of twelve tried to make its escape by rolling off the bottom tier of the salver.

Emmett lunged.

The whole table jolted forward with the impact, the salver teetered precariously, now top heavy as most of the weight on the bottom had been transferred to Emmett's stomach, and toppled over with an ear splitting crash of silver. Food went splattering across the dirty floor; James' coffee went flying, sending its contents out in a wide arch of shimmering dark fluid, and then…silence.

The donut rolled to a stop a few feet away, intact and with a sigh of relief that it hadn't joined its sugary brethren.

James numbly let go of his weapon, which was not embedded in Emmett's tender flesh, as had been the plan, but in Edward – three inches deep and up under his rib cage precisely.

Once the food had settled and several beats of silence had gone by, a sharp clapping broke the atmosphere. "Bravo, bravo! A marvelous production, boys, couldn't have done it better myself!" Aro applauded.

Edward staggered back from Emmett, colliding with a rack full of yellowed newspaper, holding his arms out and away from his torso. The fork handle bobbed grotesquely with his movements, making his head spin with sickness. He made as if to touch the wound, but jerked twitching fingers back every time, unsure of what to do. Edward's mind insisted that he should be writhing on the floor in agony…except it didn't hurt, not exactly. It was more like a memory of pain, as if an old injury was flaring up from too much physical exertion. He wasn't even bleeding, for God's sakes!

"Holy shit….Edward….dude….how did….what happened…?"

Edward dimly noticed Emmett standing up, brown eyes wide with concern and the beginnings of anger sparking in their depths, no doubt directed at the person responsible for hurting his younger sibling; he would have found that endearing if not for this all too real nightmare. Swallowing hard, Edward waveringly took hold of the smooth wooden handle in both hands, and tugged; with reluctance the fork slid free. As soon as he felt the warmed metal clear his skin, he threw it to the ground as if burned, wincing when the utensil clattered loudly against the cement. Through the torn holes in his shirt, Edward could see that there was no evidence that he had been stabbed at all – his skin was as flawless as it had ever been.

Gulping in great lungfuls of air, Edward unthinkingly slapped Emmett's hand away when it settled on his shoulder, blocking out Emmett's fumbling attempt at communication. Keeping his eyes down for fear of meeting anyone's eyes - especially Carlisle's all-knowing gaze – Edward tripped around the mess of food towards the entrance of the Laundromat.

Nobody said anything - neither did they make a move to stop him - as he walked out of the Laundromat for the second time in twenty-four hours.

* * *

A few minutes after Edward's dramatic exit…

"…Damn it."

"Indeed."

"That was positively delightful! We should do it again sometime."

"Wait…no…Edwa- blerghehgh - !"

"!"

"James…"

"Uggghh! All over my – you sick fucking bas – "

"And the show goes ever on!"

"James."

"Do you fucking see this?"

"James. Edward is your responsibility. It will be your duty to guide him now; I've done all I can for him."

"Are you – No, I'm not going after his sorry ass! And I'm not going anywhere with this – disgusting – ugghhh - !"

"No. You will remain here and await his return. I believe it should be you to talk with him once he's had the chance to fully come to terms with what has happened to him."

"Fine! Whatever! But not before I scour myself with a bucketful of bleach!"

"As you like."

"Truly, Carlisle. This is the best meeting we've had in ages. I might be inclined to attend them more often if they continue to amuse me as much as this one has."

"Aro…."

* * *

Edward wandered aimlessly for a long while, his mind a whirl of emotions and thoughts that made no sense. Stumbling along back alleys and crowded sidewalks, he kept his eyes down, watching his bare feet slap in and out of his vision. He felt the passing weight of people looking at him, taking in his appearance with mild bewilderment but only long enough to be a little curious before going on as they always have. He felt wonderfully anonymous in his simple clothes and hunched posture. He had no face to these people - just another nobody walking the streets of New York City.

It wasn't until he passed by a hair salon - an upscale shop that proclaimed to be the best place in the city for trendy-in-the-now styles – sometime in the afternoon, that he felt the beginnings of an urge to pull himself out of his mindless trudge.

He needed to go home. He wanted to see if what Carlisle said held any truth; Edward wanted to see if he was so changed, so fundamentally different from the man he was yesterday, that he couldn't meld back into his old life the way he desperately wanted to. Sure, he'd spouted off about how deep down inside he couldn't stand the way his life made him miserable but… It was better than this immortality business by a long shot. His old life was something he'd learned how to cope with – this on the other hand - was entirely out of his league.

As those thoughts lent speed to his steps, Edward was afraid to get his hopes up too high, but went ahead and let them anyway; after everything he'd been through already, he doubted there was a way things could take a turn for the worst.

Famous last words, as ever there were.

He slipped through the door to his condominium complex as a couple walked out, scornfully noting that the doorman was nowhere to be seen. Unpleasantly aware of how disheveled he must look – unfortunate now that he needed to appear as if he actually lived there and not out soliciting on the street – Edward approached the service desk as cool as a cucumber.

The severe young woman working the station adjusted her prim glasses when she looked up at him, a hint of a sneer filtering through the polite veneer as she took in Edward's rumpled clothes and bare feet.

Smiling charmingly, he leaned against the marble counter, and was pleased when his efforts won him a light blush on her pretty face.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Yes. A couple of men caught a hold of me on my way to work this morning and unfortunately relieved me of all my personal belongings," a warm chuckle and a glance down at his feet before making direct eye again, "including my shoes. I would appreciate your help, miss, if you could pull up the spare key to my apartment."

The woman, eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, turned to her computer terminal and asked, "Name and suite number?"

Breathing easier that she'd bought the lie, he said confidently, "Edward Cullen, suite number 315."

Her eyebrow shot up to her hairline - obviously not expecting his answer to be the top floor apartment - but didn't question his response. Perfectly manicured nails flew over the keyboard, filling the air with sharp tapping before she hummed thoughtfully at the computer screen.

Edward waited patiently.

"…I'm sorry, sir. Your name isn't on the register."

He froze. "….Come again?"

Some more rapid clicking and a barely there sigh. "I'm sorry, but your name is not in our database."

Edward tried to stay calm. "No…there must be some kind of mistake. Try Jessica Stanley; she lives with me, her name should be there, try that."

"Sir – "

"Miss, please, just type in the name?" This had to be a mistake.

The please softened the frown that had puckered her brow when his name hadn't come up but didn't completely get rid of it as she turned back to the computer. A few seconds later she hummed to herself again, fingers dancing hypnotically over the plastic keys as her eyes narrowed while she read.

Edward waited anxiously.

"Well…we have a Jessica Stanley…"

Edward felt the world right itself once more.

"…But it says here that she lives with a Mike Newton."

The world went up in smoke, hellfire, and brimstone.

"Sir? I apologize but since your name is not on file, you'll need to vacate the premises. Only residents are permitted here."

Cold all over, Edward couldn't even find the will to argue against her crippling dismissal; he simply nodded and thanked her for her time. Letting his arms drop to his sides, Edward turned away from the counter only to take a couple of steps away. He stood listlessly in the reception area and the familiar swarm of confusion overtook his mind, fueling his torment.

This couldn't be happening. It was inconceivable. How could… how could he be replaced like this? Wiped clean from the record as if he had never been there in the first place? Not to mention being replaced by Mike Newton – that airheaded kiss ass? Overwrought and insulted, Edward didn't know what to do until the ding of the elevator interrupted his thought process. Blankly watching the doors slide apart, he gave a start when Jessica stepped out, followed by the doorman who was attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in his coat. They went their separate ways, Jessica walking towards Edward and the entrance while the doorman went through a door with an Employees Only plaque. Edward didn't move until Jessica swept passed him, fluffing out her curls with a toss of her head and wafting her delicate rose perfume in his direction. Hooked by the scent, he hurried to catch her before she could leave, "Jess!"

She stopped - one hand on the door handle - and half-turned to frown over her shoulder, "Hmm?"

"Jessica!" He stepped close to her, unconcerned about personal space, "Jess, I need your help!"

Her expression twisted with suspicion, "Excuse me? Do I know you?" Jessica tucked her black sequined clutch firmly against her side, glancing around as if to make sure there were enough people around to feel safe in his presence.

Edward stopped himself from reaching out to her, as he'd been about to do; she didn't recognize him! Searching her face for any indication that said otherwise, he floundered for the right words, not wanting to sound anymore like a nutcase than he already did. "Edward Cullen, we met through one of the executive parties for the company. We've been together for the past 4 years –"

"Oh! I remember now!"

Finally!

"You were one of the servers! Mike told me you were one of the sandwich guys who worked weekdays or something…the cucumber and turkey with extra mayo guy." Jessica laughed, rolling her eyes.

Cucumber and turk – ? Wait a second…

…

….

Jessica shook her head, "Look, I have somewhere I need to be, so as fun as this little chat has been," she flipped her curls self-importantly and pushed on the door, "I'll be going now." With a swish and click, click of her stiletto heels she was gone.

…..

Not only….

Not only had he been replaced by Mike Newton as Jessica's boyfriend…..

The company…

His company…

…

Slamming into the door before it could fully close, Edward tore out of the building - nearly colliding with a man on his way out - and ran as fast as he could towards Edward Anthony Cullen Systems, Inc.

At least he hoped it was still called that.

* * *

Standing outside an exemplary structure of modern architectural grandeur, Edward was dripping sweat and the soles of his feet were filthy with sidewalk grime and he didn't care. He didn't care because he was certain his brain had imploded upon his arrival. The Blue Screen of Death flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

The company he'd worked so hard for, his pride and joy, the very definition of his existence…

….was owned by none other than Michael 'Sandwich Peddling' Newton.

…

….

God hated him.

There was no other explanation.

God hated him and his life was the ass end of a bad cosmic joke.

Edward watched men and women enter and exit the building, dressed in inky black business suits and flattering pencil skirts, and it was almost too much to bear. Everything really had spiraled out of his reach, his life, everything. There was nothing left for him to go back to. He entertained the idea of storming into the place, ranting and raving, venting the hysteria he felt prickling through his body, burning in the corners of his eyes. He imagined taking the elevator up to his office, kicking down the door, and throttling Mike Newton until he hurt as much as he did. But that wasn't right. It wasn't his fault; Mike was only guilty by association.

Casting one last longing gaze at what was no longer his…Edward walked away.

* * *

A/N: Done and done! Again I apologize for the long wait between chapters, but I finally got it out. Major thanks and love to my two betas (museandpinksocks and mystycblue) for all their hard work and support and generally just putting up with me! Hope to see you, my lovely readers, again soon!

PS: The first part of this chapter is exactly 6,666 words long in my WordDocument. Just felt like telling you. :P


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - As If I Never Existed

Edward lost all track of time when he finally sought shelter from the cold streets in a restaurant that he had never been to before, in a part of of the city he didn't recognize. All he knew was the sun had set what seemed like ages ago, and this was the first time he'd stepped into a building since he'd tried to go back to his - what used to be his - condo.

At one point Edward recalled stopping at one of those tacky little souvenir vendors that specialized in 'I Heart NY' merchandise to buy a pair of flimsy flip flops (he had discovered a wallet he didn't recognize in the back pocket of his borrowed jeans that contained a good sum of cash but no cards or any form of ID), thus the busboy that greeted him as he came into the decidedly charming eatery didn't turn him back out onto the street on account of having no shoes.

There was little else he cared to remember before or after that.

Muttering something to the busboy about just wanting a drink, Edward wandered to the far end of the bar closest to the back wall and frowned as he passed a woman who was clearly in the middle of creating a scene.

"What the hell were you thinking? I don't ever recall asking either of you for help, and what part of, 'I don't need a man,' did you not understand?"

Edward watched on with indifference as he pulled up a seat, motioning to the stocky bartender as he did so.

The slight brunette to the left of the shouting woman shrank back from the accusation, but defended herself with a clear, strong voice, "But you never even considered it, Bella! He was interested in you, and I know he's a wonderful guy, he's got a great per-"

Bella a.k.a Shouting Woman fired back with a surprising amount of venom for such delicate features, "I don't care if he's the fucking Casanova of the twentieth century, a dream come true for all womankind, or even if he has a wang the size of Texas! Don't do me any favors."

Edward shook his head as the brunette opened her mouth again to fend off the attack. "I'll bet the guy who tries to hook up with that one is better off without..."

A glass plunked down in front of him and a warm voice chuckled at his pronouncement, "You can't judge a book by it's cover or even by the first couple of chapters, sir."

Glancing at the bartender pouring his drink, Edward kept his attention on the commotion. "Yeah, but if you have to read more than half of the book to find something to like about it, chances are you can find better..."

"All right, we apologize for setting you up. It won't happen again." That time it's the blonde to the right that spoke, confidently loud, with a stiff gesture of her hand that said she'd had enough.

Firmly picking up his drink, Edward knocked it back as if he had spent every night of his life slumped over a bar counter. He relished the burn of alcohol as it slid down his gullet. Usually Edward wasn't one for hard liquor - wasn't for anything other than the occasional glass of red wine truthfully - but there's something to be said about a man hitting rock bottom and finding that the only comfort is in a drunken stupor.

For the very first time, Edward felt an inkling of empathy for his little brother.

Plunking the glass back onto the counter with careless force, Edward signaled for another.

Too bad the spectacle that had been his source of entertainment seemed to have been pulled up short. The three women were talking amongst themselves in voices that were just a little too low for him to hear over the general hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Bella sat more relaxed; her long dark brown hair kept Edward from getting a good look at her face, though he thought there was a smile flirting just beyond his range of vision.

"Hey, Gorilla-Man! One more round for us gorgeous ladies over here!"

Edward scowled as the friendly bartender nodded over his shoulder at the blonde - he'd emptied his glass before them, damn it.

Drunken cheers from the other end of the bar rose up over the din, another group of girls that were more on the 'middle-aged but didn't believe it' side of the female spectrum.

Blondie proclaimed her agreement with Edward's observation as she verbally scorned them, "I wasn't including you old skanks! I suggest you save your money for your next surgery and spare me the sight of your sagging tits falling out of last year's spring collection. What is that crap anyway? It looks like -"

Bella - shoulders shaking with restrained laughter - said something that cut off Blondie's rant, again too low for Edward to make out. The brunette next to Bella appeared to be sliding off her seat, an embarrassed blush colored her cheeks such a rosy red that it shone brilliantly even in the low light.

Tired of being the silent spectator, Edward slid his glass from one hand to the other, impatiently waiting for his turn to be served. He tried hard to keep his mind a blank slate, his focus narrowed to just the feel of smooth glass under his fingertips, the solid scrape as it went left then right.

Ten times his glass went across the dark wood - in wider and slower arcs with every pass - before another plonked down in front of him, just outside his reach.

"I'm sorry for the holdup, sir. It's best not to keep that one waiting...unless you're interested in seeing a cat fight, but those really aren't as fun to watch as they appear on TV."

Edward barely looked up as he took the drink almost before it was completely filled. "Yeah..? My bets are on the blonde. I see her finishing what she starts..."

"You have no idea. I'm Will, by the way. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to -"

"Shout. Got it," Edward tipped his glass in acknowledgement before eagerly slamming back its contents into his mouth.

Edward paid no more attention to anything except the buzz of alcohol in his head; he didn't see Bella leave the restaurant, waving over her shoulder to the blonde and brunette, the pretty smile she gave Will when he called out a hasty good night and take care.

Later when Will finally cut him off, Edward didn't extend his focus past the shuffling of his sandaled feet as he dodged chairs and people that were never quite where he thought they should have been and always perilously close to tripping him up. He certainly missed the distracted glance Blondie gave him, and the furrowing of her brow as there was a spark of recognition but it was gone, quick as it'd came, because the other woman - the brunette - was leaning forward, a question plain on her face, and then Edward was back out on the streets.

At first the night was a murky blur of shapeless shadows and dizzying streaks of light, but the farther he walked, Edward began to notice something.

Edward began to feel the cold night air against his feverish skin, to hear the sound of his feet slapping on the pavement and the taxi cabs honking at pedestrians, he saw people's faces and the clothes they were wearing, watched them watch him as he passed by - everything became clearer, louder, brighter.

As Edward reached the corner of the street, he noticed that while he'd been drunk off his ass prior to leaving that nameless restaurant, he was now - painfully - stone cold sober.

"...This is fucked up." Actually, it was beyond fucked up, Edward amended, if he couldn't even find solace in rotgut's liquid embrace. Dragging a sleeve across his forehead to mop up the sweat, he had a flashback to earlier that day of a meat fork sticking out from under his rib cage. Edward dropped his uplifted hand to his abdomen and fingered the tear he found there on the side of the shirt.

Maybe it wasn't entirely a bad thing...

Sighing, Edward ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, the other hand planted itself on his hip, and stared fixedly into space.

Well...now what was he supposed to do?

There was no place for him to go - other than the Laundromat, but Edward didn't think he could handle going back there at that moment without becoming mentally unhinged, especially if Carlisle was still there, which he doubted - best not to take chances where God is concerned though, he reasoned bitterly - and there was nothing for him to do but wander aimlessly some more...

But Edward didn't think he could handle that either. Aimlessly wandering would have been fine and dandy for him, if he'd still been wallowing in a sea of spirits that would have killed an actual living person.

Supposing he'd been tired at all, he would have found an isolated bit of grass behind a bush or something in the park, but then what after that?

He was drawing blank after blank and as a result, the future loomed ahead of him like a mountain he was being forced to climb but had no idea how high or even if he had the right tools at his disposal to scale the damn thing to begin with.

Edward shook his head.

He had to keep things simple.

Did he want to continue walking the streets or did he want to suck it up and go back to the Laundromat?

Weighing the two against each other, Edward picked the Laundromat. Chances were that the others had left in favor of going back to their...business, yeah, that was the word. In any case, he'd probably have the place all to himself and from there...he'd figure something else out.

* * *

The ringing of the bells above his head was all that greeted Edward when he opened the door to the Laundromat. No rumbling of dryers, or sloshing of washers, or...

Edward sighed in relief. Nobody was there.

Stepping inside, he listened to the ringing of the bells again as the door swung shut behind him. Edward briefly thought about bolting the glass door before heading upstairs to the apartment but the uncertainty of whether or not he had the right to do that was enough to make him leave it as it was.

Edward walked down the center aisle - he kept his footsteps light so as not to disturb the wonderful silence - it was so nice to be alone - and just as he reached the entrance to the staircase that would take him up, he pulled up short.

Treating the battered door as one would a bomb that may or may not go off at any moment, Edward examined it from top to bottom - not touching it or coming too close - looking for anything that would give it away as being unnatural or even fake. A few minutes of cautious scrutiny later, when nothing jumped out at him as being strange, Edward carefully placed a hand on the doorknob.

It felt solid enough in his hand, cold metal smooth to the touch, and he brought up his other hand to press gently to the roughened wood, red paint peeling back to expose the grain underneath.

Still nothing out of the ordinary, and he was starting to feel a bit like an idiot.

A voice in the back of his head told him in a tone he usually reserved for secretaries and crazy fangirls that he was an idiot and a coward and if he expected the door to open by itself then he needed to be put away in a padded cell.

Taking a deep breath, Edward turned the knob and...pushed.

Creak!

Edward jolted as it swung open - as most doors tend to do when someone tries to open them - and nearly fell over as he'd put more force behind the effort than he normally did.

The voice - which was Edward's voice, only it still possessed the iron clad authority he had once held as both sword and shield - tsked in disgust.

Carefully, still inherently suspicious that it would change on him the way it had before, he shut the door and was left standing in gloomy darkness.

Turning, he quickly climbed the stairs, being mindful not to put his feet down too hard for fear of falling through them.

* * *

"What am I supposed to do now...?"

"Here. Your new best friend and confidant."

Edward took the offered beer, not bothering to say thanks as the word would have been wasted on James anyway.

This wasn't what Edward had thought would happen. Admittedly, when he'd made it into the little studio style apartment, he hadn't thought at all about what he'd do once there, but somehow ending up on the couch with James - let alone talking with him - wouldn't have been the first scenario he'd have come up with.

Hell, it wouldn't have made it into the top fifty scenarios but isn't that always the way?

So when James had glared at him from over the back of the couch, Edward couldn't say exactly why he hadn't just turned around and marched right back down the way he'd came; maybe it was what was left of his battered pride rearing up with what strength it had left or it could have been that tiny part of him that cried for an anchor, no matter how rude that anchor was, or even worse - fate - which he would have never considered even on a good day that made him do what he had done. Having felt whatever it was - stubborn ego or cosmic indigestion, Edward had glared back with just as much ire, shut the door firmly behind him, and plonked down on the opposite end of the couch as if he'd planned to do that from the very beginning.

Which had led to a reluctant, painfully stilted, mostly one-sided conversation between the two men after an unhealthy amount of tense silence; it was all very reminiscent to a prison cell scene, where two men who are condemned for the rest of their lives are forced to share a tiny confined space and not kill each other for that extra ten inches of comfort.

Not really noticing the beer in his hand, Edward said quietly, "This is what my life has been degraded to...all that time and effort...the sacrifices I made..."

James shifted next to him, a tiny shift of the body that kind of looked like one of those full body shrugs but might have been a move to keep from sliding between the couch cushions. "Wrong, pretty boy. You just made the sacrifice. Everything before that was just the halftime show. Now you're in the game - His game - and you'll play by his rules."

Edward ignored what he said, and slowly turned the beer bottle in his hands, picking at the corners of label while he did. "I could have retired before the age of 40...I would have had it made..." Better than made, he thought, but Edward felt that if he said any more on the subject he may lose his tenuous grip on sanity and be reduced to a catatonic state of mind that he would not care to surface from. Edward figured if something of that sort were to happen to him, it should be a direct result from a tragic accident - a normal, everyday tragedy like being mugged and shot to death - not from this ridiculous misunderstanding of time, place, and identity.

James elbowed him roughly while leaning over - a movement that only appeared to be unintentional - and grabbed another beer from the grubby picnic cooler set on the floor next to his feet. "Listen to me. Forget you had any of that shit; you take all those memories and -hey!"

Edward looked up, still half tuning out James, but matching him scowl for scowl.

"You take all of those memories - that worthless shit - and you fucking bury it. Everything good, bad, ugly, useless - all of it! Remembering will only make your existence now that much more of a living hell." James sat up straight, lifted his butt up off the cushion, and tugged on the chain at his hip. A black leather wallet slid out of his back jeans' pocket; dangling from the end of the chain, next to the wallet was a keychain with a bottle opener. James deftly popped open the bottle, and put the wallet back into his pocket. Edward had the crazy thought that the bottle opener should have punctured a triangular pit in his buttock considering it was mashed in with a thick wallet while James took a long revitalizing pull from his fresh beer.

As James settled back into a comfortable slouch, Edward reluctantly came out of his self-pitying frame of mind after having shaken himself mentally to dislodge the logistics of bottle opener wounds to a person's buttocks. He was surprised to recognize - behind James' harsh words - a pain that echoed his own in the other man's black-hearted monologue.

Behind the black eyes and the - otherness that was decidedly not human - there was a man. Maybe James made himself appear human, maybe not because looking human helped make it easier to reap reluctant souls, but maybe...it was because James himself had been a human being once. Which is why all those human expressions and gestures - the hunch of his shoulders, the stubborn set of his jaw - came across as being real and not just an emulation.

James eyed Edward as he chugged more than half of his beer in one easy go. Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he then started hunting around in his jacket for cigarettes. "What's that look for?"

Edward blinked and smoothly went back to toying with the label on his beer. He felt a certain sense of self-possession returning to him with the thought that maybe he wasn't the first to be so thoroughly screwed by the Powers That Be.

"You're too fucking quiet. What happened to all that fire and holier than thou attitude?" James sneered, patting around the cushion he sat on, still without cigarettes in hand.

Edward ignored the bait in favor of taking in the rest of his surroundings.

Directly in front of him was one of those old televisions, a minuscule thirteen inch idiot box that must have been made back when color was a brand spanking new technological advancement. The show playing flickered with static and he noticed the cable hookup trailed along the wall to the cracked window and out across the alleyway to the satellite on the neighboring rooftop. Judging by the foreign lettering on the neon sign that he could see, it was a chinese restaurant. That would explain why the newscaster on the screen wasn't speaking English.

Smirking a little at that, Edward twisted around in his seat, leaning against the armrest to avoid being eaten by the couch, which seemed to have been rescued from the remains of a burned down building judging from the soot streaks he'd acquired on his clothing. Edward guessed that this particular corner of the apartment was meant to be the living room.

To the left was the kitchenette, fully equipped with a refrigerator - he hoped it wasn't actually sinking into the floor - a sink, some wall cabinets - a couple were missing doors - and even a bit of countertop that separated it all from the rest of the room. Edward noted the lack of a stove but there was at least a microwave and a coffee maker that would have been at home in a three star motel lounge. Also taking up counter space was a metal rack with an assortment of chipped mugs, ranging from teeny tiny espresso cups to ones that could probably hold a whole pot of joe. Edward was amused to see that James didn't give a damn what was on them - unless he had a secret love of Pooh Bear, that is.

Continuing along the wall from the kitchenette, there was a door, which Edward knew for a fact led to the sparsely furnished bedroom, the only part of the apartment that he recognized.

Edward frowned. He didn't recall seeing a door to a bathroom in the bedroom when he'd come to that morning, but casting a quick glance around the apartment from where he was sitting, Edward didn't see where else it could be. Assuming there was a bathroom at all.

His frown deepened. What if there was no bathroom? As of yet, he hadn't felt the need to use one...though that wasn't to say he wouldn't at some point in the near future. He still had every other bodily function as far as he could tell, but then again, what did he know anymore?

Edward made himself stand firm against the unease that threatened to overtake him again. Here he was finally feeling like maybe he could get a grasp on what had happened to him in the last 24 hours, and he was going to lose it over whether or not taking a leak was a necessity of everyday life.

So what if he didn't know what was normal anymore? Wasn't that almost the same as if he'd never been touched by Death in the first place? Normal for him certainly hadn't been normal for most people in life, Edward knew without a doubt, so why should it be an issue now?

And then it struck him. Why should it be an issue at all? Sure, he'd been evicted from his apartment, company taken over by the kid who'd served him lunch - but what was really stopping him from reclaiming what was rightfully his?

Edward jolted up off the couch and nearly toppled over as said couch did its utmost best to keep him locked in its sooty worn down jaws.

James jumped at the abrupt movement, thankful he'd nearly finished his beer as it probably would've slopped all over his front with the motion. "What the hell has crawled up your ass?"

Edward swayed on his feet; he practically vibrated with the force of his racing thoughts. He would take it back. It didn't matter how much, or what, or when - no, he took that back. The when mattered the most, he thought feverishly.

"I'm going back." A smirk of nearly psychotic origins emerged with this pronouncement, and Edward could have cared less if it made the other uncomfortable.

It made James squirm in disquiet, but he tried to hide it while he half-heartedly went back to hunting for a cigarette. "What? You did that ear- I mean, I assumed that you had already - stupidest fucking thing you could have done which is why you must have-"

Edward ignored all this. "I'll show them. I don't care how - I'll SHOW them that nobody shuts the door on Edward Anthony Fucking Cullen, youngest CEO millionaire on the continental U.S.A."

James began to show a bit more anxiety with this latest declaration of instability. "Don't go down that avenue, Lover Boy, you already know how that shit ends - where the fuck do you think you're going?" He scrambled up off the couch as the former CEO marched towards the apartment door, a manic gleam in his eyes and a much too purposeful stride.

"It's my bloody business and I'll be damned before I just roll over and let them have it!" And just like that, Edward was back out onto the streets of New York, on a mission similar but of an entirely different mindset than before.

* * *

James hated to admit it, but he was hard-pressed to keep up with the other man. He knew, fucking knew what the other had in mind, and while he was tempted to keep his distance as he had the last time, the mad determination that had taken over Edward wasn't good in his opinion. In fact, it was a thousand times worse than the whipped attitude Edward had after he had discovered he'd been wiped clean from the record books; this was bound to get them both in trouble if James didn't intervene. He struggled with how to approach the situation - he was out of his element on how to stop an idiot from doing the idiotic, if such a thing were possible.

Why were the odds NEVER in his favor?

He'd demand to know from Carlisle, but James knew that he wouldn't get a straight answer out of the beatific asshole.

What the hell? James didn't give two shits in all honesty and he was out chasing the one soul that had ruined everything for him. Subtlety was for chicks and nerds who'd never scored.

James grabbed the back of Edward's rumpled button down and threw him bodily into the wire fence they had been jogging by. Edward bounced back and rather than trying to fight, he aimed to dodge around James as there was only one thing at the forefront of his mind and he didn't want to waste the time as daylight would be approaching before too much longer. The fact that he could see James' glower without the aid of a streetlight was testament to dawn coming within the next hour or two for sure, and the first employees always arrived bright and early at 8 am...

Unfortunately, James managed to pin him to the fence before he could properly escape and hissed in his face, "What you're doing is pointless. Nothing you can do will change what has happened. You can't reclaim what He took from you, no matter how hard you try!"

Edward didn't flinch nor did he look away. What he did was scrunch up his nose as he was hit full-force with the stench of beer and bad breath. "Get off me. I know what I'm doing."

"I sincerely fucking doubt that." James shoved him further into the fence. "What do you hope to accomplish? Run in there and refuse to leave until they crown you king again? Look at you! They'd have you tossed in a concrete room faster than you can -"

Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't take me for a simpleton. My aim isn't to demand what is mine - it's to TAKE it from those who aren't me so they are unable to USE it."

That, admittedly, made no sense whatsoever to James. Edward saw that and his smirk grew more evil by the second. That smirk said he not only knew exactly what he was doing, but how to do it, and how to do it with skilled precision and deadly execution. It'd make a ninja assassination of an entire village look like child's play compared to how efficiently he was going to ruin the corporation he had worked so hard to build.

James still hadn't caught onto the murderous plot itching to be carried out. "When you say 'unable to use' -"

"I'm going to take or destroy or redistribute EVERYTHING. Funny thing about new age technology - it's all digital. It's all controlled with just a couple of passwords and a click of a button." The leer was wiped clean from Edward's face which left a painfully blank expression behind in its place. His eyes seemed to dull and brighten at the same time with his next words, "If I don't exist anymore, then my company shouldn't exist either. I'll take it apart with my bare hands, if that's what it takes."

"You...you're cracked, mate." James had let go of him and stepped back in disbelief. "Ha...haha..."

Edward blinked when James covered his face and...was that a smile...?

James rocked back on his heels and dropped his hand, a lopsided grin tugged at one corner of his mouth; it made him look younger by at least ten years. "I'm in."

It was Edward's turn to be flabbergasted.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb, pretty boy, someone might believe it." James stuffed his hands deep in his jacket pockets and gestured with a flap of his hidden fists in the general direction they'd originally been headed. "Well?"

"...All right..." A quick glance at the lightening sky was enough for Edward to question the change of heart no further. "Hurry up. I only need half an hour to do the most important bit but we have maybe a couple of hours to -"

"Then quit running your mouth, and lead the way." James gave him a push down the sidewalk and rudely ignored the glare he received for the offense.

Edward squared his shoulders and smoothed his shirt with a sharp tug; it was to be noted that despite his worn appearance and flip flops, this motion was still full of grace and sophistication; had there been other business men in the vicinity, they would have felt a jealous admiration, and if there had been dolled up secretaries nearby, they'd have fanned themselves to ward off the sudden heat of desire.

James for his part was neither of these parties and thus the effect was lost on him - though there was jealousy underneath, a grudging sort of seed that slipped past his iron defenses that he tried to smother before it could possibly turn into something far worse - like respect.

"Let's go."

* * *

When they came up on the gargantuan building of concrete and glass, James became a little skeptical about Edward's plan to dismantle the monument of commercial capitalism. Not that he was in on the details of how it was to be done, but he felt that the general idea of it was a pipe dream that was likely to blow up in their faces. Sure, the vision of someone finally getting a little ahead of the Head Powderpuff was what ultimately made him decide to stick it out with the jackass but the possibility of it coming back to bite them in the ass was pretty much guaranteed.

Despite how James had ended up one of the many Deaths to roam the Earth, there was still a part of him that cried bloody rebellion, carrying the banner that screamed, "Damn the Man! Save the Empire!" Admittedly, he'd never actually felt that burn of liberty in his gut, never felt like he was making any effort against that which he had found oppressive...he'd always just drowned it in crude liquor and brash talk...

James swore when he noticed that Edward had slunk around the side of the establishment, towards a shadowed entryway that looked like maybe it was used for maintenance workers or security personnel.

"This is insanity...what the hell are we going to accomplish here anyway..." James was muttering to himself, an unfortunate habit that he swore got him into the most trouble at the most inconvenient of times. Whenever he felt particularly overwhelmed or lost, his mouth would start moving of its own accord and next thing you know, he had gotten smacked for saying something he'd meant to keep to himself. It'd happened most when he was still alive - not that he remembered his past life or anything, nope, not a damn thing. He just knew that talking out loud when you don't mean to must be a bad trait that is just asking for trouble.

Edward half turned to him when they reached the heavy side door, and held his hand up in a 'stay low and wait' motion that James had only every seen used in action movies. It made him feel slightly giddy in a manic kind of way and he was maybe willing to acknowledge that he was having - not fun, that's definitely not the word that came to his mind! - but it was something in the neighborhood of...engaging. Yeah, that'll work.

Sliding along the wall, Edward reached for the small keypad next to the door handle, and muddled his fingers over the keys, as if he were trying to recall the code through the tips of his wiggling fingers.

After a couple of seconds, he tapped seven numbers in quick succession and the door buzzed and swung open an inch to grant them entry.

Nodding, Edward curled his other hand at James to signify it was all clear and slithered around the door, making almost no noise except for the slight brush of moving fabric against metal. James bemoaned his own stupidity and followed, the door swung shut behind him with a taunting click.

* * *

Realistically, it would have been harder getting from point A to point B if James wasn't invisible to most of the human population. The small portion of human beings that could claim to see him didn't really want to or had waited a long time to have the pleasure. That being said, James was impressed with his companion's ability to infiltrate a building without any noticeable detection. Someone may look at the footage from one of the security tape playbacks and wonder who that man sneaking up some 20 floors was and what he was doing there, but that wouldn't be until after the damage was done. With any luck, they'd be long gone when that happened too...provided that they weren't stopped by the Powers That Be before they could detonate the proverbial bomb.

Edward laughed quietly in such a way that James was reminded again that the man might no longer be all that sane when put up against the national average of normal functionality.

"This is it." Edward looked both ways down the hall to make sure the coast was clear before knocking on the opaque glass bearing the embellished title Chief Executive Officer - Michael Newton. When no answer was forthcoming, he quickly opened the door and darted inside, leaving it open for James to reluctantly follow.

"Go - fuck, this was yours?" He had made a mental note upon entering the building that he would not be affected by whatever rich bastards like E. Cullen luxuriated in, but the words slipped out before James could smother them. Ignoring Edwards scathing remark about the obvious, he ran an envious hand over the plush black leather of the couch and stared covetously at the slick Keurig brewer resting on the corner bar.

For his part, Edward was focused on hacking into the computer, swearing every few minutes as he ruffled his hair into greater disarray with every failed attempt.

"Man...if I'd known you'd had it this good - no wonder you're so pissed." James flopped on the couch gracelessly, smirking when it earned him a glare and not caring. "How much did this joint cost you? Ten years worth of life down the shitpipe? Or were you one of those pedigree fuckers choking on a silver spoon?"

"I can't think with you speaking." Edward growled at the screen as it threatened to go into emergency shut down if he entered the wrong password for the tenth time.

James's patented smart ass remark was prematurely slaughtered by a knock.

"Shhh - " Not wanting to do the stupid thing of being caught while simultaneously refusing to dive beneath the desk in an effort to hide, Edward froze right where he was.

Go away. Go away long enough to allow the destruction of this stupidly efficient piece of shit...

A quick glance at the window was all Edward managed before the door swung open.

Too bad he hadn't thought of throwing it out of the window until it was too late.

* * *

"This isn't my room."

Edward and James stared blankly at the appearance of the other E. Cullen whom stared back with an equal amount of blankness.

"Em? How the hell did you get here?" Glad that they - or rather, he - wasn't about to be escorted off the premises in handcuffs, Edward began weighing the pros and cons of breaking the computer into itty bitty pieces on the pavement so many floors below.

"Ya got me, bro. That Aro guy is a real dickhead. I don't remember much of it now, but I know I told him I didn't know anything about well, anything he was going on about. I can't be dead! There's no way - I'm too young to become worm food!" Emmett, whistled as he took in his surroundings. "So these are your digs, huh? Nice!"

James, for those interested, hadn't relaxed at the Cullen brother's entrance. In fact, he was taking it in the complete opposite direction and becoming increasingly agitated. "Interference...that's what this is...except from Aro...never good...the fuck..."

"Oh, hey, didn't see you there, man - what was your name again? Didn't really catch it the first time, sorry about that, could you move over?" Emmett made to sit on the couch when several things happened at once.

As he'd moved further into the room, there was a pronounced heaviness that followed. It's the kind of heaviness that settles in the air like the weight of a father's stare while his baby girl is being escorted to the prom by her sweating boyfriend. Or maybe like the weight of a prison sentence being passed down onto an innocent man's head when the knife that was meant for his throat ended up in the perpetrator's instead. Like that but charged with the power of mother nature at her worst and given a very specific purpose by the Devil himself.

The coffee brewer in the corner didn't stand a chance against the maelstrom of chaotic force that was Emmett Cullen. Secretly, the machine was happy to pass on to the other side as it had served less purpose than the paperweight on the desk; Mike was not a coffee sort of person, unlike Edward.

Emmett nudged James over with a friendly shove and a little boy grin that said they were going to be the best of friends. James would have been sick at the thought if he hadn't felt like he'd just stuck a fork in a wall socket at the casual touch.

So. Carlisle wasn't the only one with a new pawn on the board.

There was a pitiful little bang, and the Keurig caught fire.

All three men looked around to find the source of the smoke when the fire alarm went off. Before they could even flinch at the high pitched ringing, it began to rain indoors.

Sputtering, James immediately leapt up, swearing as he ran for the door more out of instinct than any real desire not to get wet and Emmett fell off the couch in a confused heap.

Blinking owlishly, Edward watched through wet bangs as the computer screen flickered, flashed a symbol that looked remarkably like a skull and crossbones, and died.

Well.

With much resignation, Edward got up, squelched his way around the desk, and grabbed Emmett up off the floor on his way out of the office.

* * *

"Not to rub it in or anything - "

"Don't say it."

"Sorry, Loverboy, but seriously? What did you honestly think was going to happen?"

"What the hell was that? Why did that thing catch fire? It just happened out of nowhere!"

There had been such a mad rush to evacuate the rapidly flooding building that nobody had noticed them leave. On their way out, Edward had spotted a couple of scorched security guards yelling at a harried maintenance worker about the simultaneous combustion of different bits of machinery. He had also noticed that as his brother ran through the building, more and more things started behaving in ways they shouldn't such as fire extinguishers going off of their own accord and copiers spitting out dozens of documents despite being drenched from the sprinkler system. "Your guess is as good as mine at this point, Em. As it is, I'm thinking you and I should just go back to the damn Laundromat and wait for further instructions."

"But what about-"

Car alarms were going off as Emmett walked down the sidewalk, and the stoplight ahead of them was on the fritz. The smell of burning rubber and the crunch of bumpers colliding was almost enough to drown out Edward's reply.

"No, Emmett, we need to go there." Acceptance was a beautiful thing, even if it was forced down one's throat with all the gentleness of a jackhammer. "Was it like this when you became...what you are?" Edward couldn't quite bring himself to call James Death. A tiny part of him still remained defiant and wouldn't allow the word out of his mouth when addressing the blond.

A partial shrug and deepening scowl were his only answer as James lit up a mutilated cigarette.

"But, bro, you don't actually believe - " Emmett rested a large hand on Edward's shoulder and it felt like a kick in the teeth and a fist in a gut all at once.

Choking on the urge to be sick all over the place, Edward pushed Emmett back and held out a hand in warning when Emmett tried to initiate contact again. "Don't. There's something wrong with you and I don't know what it is. There's something wrong with ME and I don't know what to do about it. So we're both going to the place where the only peo- things that can help us."

James snorted through a puff of smoke. "If you want to call it that."

Edward ignored the remark and did his best to smile reassuringly. "Trust me on this, Em."

Still hopelessly confused but unable to remain hurt under his brother's cajoling, Emmett grinned back. "All right. Let's beat this thing!"

* * *

As the three men entered the Laundromat some time later, both Carlisle and Aro were seated at the small table as if they had known all along they would return. It was hard to say which was more pleased by this, but it could be said that all three were wary by the smiles that greeted them. One was entirely too fiendish and the other too heartfelt to be trusted without suspicion.

"Welcome back, boys."

* * *

**Author's Note: Wow, it's been a long while! Anybody still reading this thing? Well, to those who are, the next chapter is in its rough draft stages and the following chapter is already outlined. That being said, hopefully this pathetic author won't wait another three years before updating. **


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Family Means You Bring the Shovel

Carlisle stood up and offered Edward his chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable, son."

Edward took one look at the small plastic seat and one look at Aro, lavish in his silk tie and suit, watching him greedily. "I'll stand, thank you."

"I don't need to be present for this crap, do I?" James was already walking towards the upstairs door before he had his answer.

Carlisle coughed politely, "No, you do not. However, there is no reason you should fritter away this time in front of the television."

Beep beep!

James cringed at the happy chirping of the little black pager suddenly clipped to his belt. "You've got to be shit-"

"Tick tock, your time is up!" Aro sang with a gleeful wave of his fingers.

Spinning on his heel, James made as if he were going to run over and strangle Aro with his tie, but he spun away into nothingness instead.

"Woah! How did - did you see that?!"

Edward - feeling as he may soon be immune to such fascinating turns of events - asked in his most level voice, "Where'd you send him?"

"London, England. Now, how are you feeling, Edward? Emmett?" Carlisle let the declined seat remain empty, and stood facing the two brother's.

"Uh." That wasn't what he wanted to come out of his mouth. What Edward really wanted to say was, "You know perfectly well how I'm feeling, you fucking dick, now stop leading me around by this god damn leash and tell me what in the fucking hell you want! $# !$^& # $%^#!," but unfortunately the words were in such a rush to make it to the surface that there was a pileup on Esophagus Highway. Somewhere in the wreckage, his patience was suffering major internal hemorrhaging and needed a swift evac. to the ER before his speech could be restored.

Emmett was a bit more eloquent with his reply. "I guess I'm all right. Still kind of confused on why I'm here, and who you are, and all that jazz, but Edward's got the idea of it so that's good enough for me." He flashed his biggest jovial smile at his brother who was slapping a band aid on his inner calm and telling it to take it like a man.

"I wouldn't say that, Em." Edward inhaled deeply through his nose, held it for a count of five, and exhaled sharply from his mouth. He did it again before he felt he could ask the most pressing question on his mind. "What did you do to Emmett?" He frowned. "And why has it stopped?"

The whole time they had been standing in the entryway, not a single washing machine had flooded out the place. Nor had a dryer spun itself into itty bits or the lights above their heads shattered - it was all very eerie after the havoc that had followed them on the journey back.

"You might not have had to ask had you not run out on us the first time, you silly boy." Aro leaned back in his chair with a sly grin.

"So this was your doing?" Temper flaring, Edward wished he had something more worthwhile than immortality. Sure, not getting killed and living forever was fantastic, but what good was it if he couldn't at least rend a person or devil limb from limb?

"Perhaps, now isn't the ideal time for this." Carlisle had dropped his trademark benevolent smile and seemed to fade in such a way that he almost passed for a normal good looking middle aged man. "I understand you are still struggling to come to terms with all that has happened. Certainly, there is some time to spare before you are truly needed."

Unhappy with this pronouncement, Aro's expression became menacing. The shadows in the room seemed to slither and expand as though they were coming to life, distorting the dimensions of the room around them. "How dare you meddle! You will allow thisssss," the syllable resonated and lashed out, twisting the shadows into new forms, things with long claws, things with many mouths filled with rows upon rows of teeth, "meeting to continue assss planned!"

"Enough." One quietly spoken word and the room returned to normal, the shadows ordinary and harmless.

Where Aro had previously been was empty air.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Emmett put a hand to his head and indeed, he looked a bit green around the gills.

"I apologize, my sons. Aro can be quite intolerable at times and too dramatic for his own sake." Carlisle sighed. "Before I leave you please know that what Emmett IS is not - exactly - damaging."

"But it can be." Edward filled in what Carlisle didn't say specifically.

A hint of a smile, "Now THAT is up to Emmett. His new...powers...can be controlled if he can find it in himself to do so; it will take some getting used to. Therefore," the smile became a blinding light, "you will be tasked with helping him first."

Somewhere in the center of his chest, Edward felt a sensation not unlike someone tying a string around his heart. It wasn't unpleasant or intrusive, but almost like maybe God had just slapped a sticky note on the refrigerator door of his soul reminding him to take out the garbage before he left. Except this note was telling him to...spend time with his brother?

"Wait. That doesn't help us at all! What are we supposed to do? What do you want?!" Edward resisted the urge to rip out his hair in frustration.

Was a straightforward answer the only impossible thing to come from God?

"I have complete faith in you." And then Carlisle was gone.

"You can take that faith and fucking SHOVE IT down somebody else's throat - OR BETTER YET -"

"Dude, not to uh, interrupt but...I still don't get how they're doing that." Emmett wandered over to where Carlisle had been not even a minute ago and hesitantly prodded the vacant space as though it was going to swallow him whole.

Edward ignored him and stalked over to the table. He certainly did not slam his head down onto the table and there was no way a man of his caliber felt the need to sob hysterically.

It should be noted that Edward did a pretty good impression of both.

* * *

"Hey...it cant' be that bad."

The table was on very friendly terms with Edward's forehead. At first, they didn't really get along what with their violent collision, but after ten minutes, forehead had come around to see it the table's way.

"Come on, try to find the bright -"

There was a horrible shlick noise as Edward's forehead left the table. It was dimpled to mirror exactly the table's texture and a vivid red. "There is no bright side to this - this - !" Unable to come up with a nasty enough description of what he thought exactly THIS was, he thumped heavily back against the seat as if that settled the matter.

"Well...I'm here! That's always the bright side when I'm around!" Emmett dropped into the seat next to his brother. "And when was the last time we've spent any time together anyway? Don't look at me like that - those were your words, not mine."

Figures that would be the one thing Emmett would remember during their previous encounter at the Laundromat. "Maybe I exaggerated a little...it couldn't have been THAT long ago." Surely. Emmett was his brother and only biological family to his name, therefore - overabundant drinking habits aside - Edward would have set SOME time aside to spend with him.

"Oh, I don't know...it's not like I wrote it onto a calendar or anything..." Emmett rocked the chair back precariously onto two legs, "I'm pretty sure the last time was my birthday."

"...That can't be right." Edward could feel the lick of guilt low in his belly, "What about the game you played...you wanted to go drinking after...?" Come to think of it...

"You didn't stay though, remember? Jessica called and you left...besides, that was a couple of months before my birthday."

Yup, Edward could imagine the beginnings of a word flashing above his head with a neon arrow pointed directly at him - starts with an A ends in a space where golfers like their balls to go - not THOSE balls, the one's they whack around well-manicured landscaping. "Really."

"Look, it's fine. I'm not bringing it up to make you feel bad - I wouldn't hold something like that against you, bro." Emmett leaned too far back, teetered, then swung the chair back safely on all four legs. "I'm just saying that, you know, we're together now, so it could be like old times!"

Guilt was a monstrous emotion. It was quickly evolving into a level fifty badass and pummeling the wrought iron defense that was - had been - Edward's work. "I haven't even called you since that last visit."

"Seriously, don't worry about -"

"You didn't try to call me did you?" Because that would really put a kink in his approach to the whole 'it's you not me' schtick he was going for.

"No, I said it was no proble -"

But that was a bold faced lie; Edward knew in the way that all siblings and family members know when the person they were all but chained to from birth was trying to hide something. "Don't lie to me, Em."

"..." The force of Edward's stare drove hard into Emmett's efforts to brush it off, effectively killing his cheerfulness. "Once. A couple of weeks ago."

Edward couldn't recall a single instance when his phone rang for anything other than office meetings and lunch with Jessica, not since their last visit. "What'd you need to talk about, Emmett?"

Emmett shook his head, his mouth twitching like a part of him wanted to make a joke out of the situation and move on all the same. He pushed back his chair roughly, and stood. "Okay, if we're going to talk - really talk - then I don't want to do it here." He rapped his knuckles against the rigid plastic tabletop, glanced at the lines of laundry appliances, "Not here. I want to go somewhere else."

Brow furrowed, worrying that he'd missed more than he had feared, Edward replied hesitantly, "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I don't know if you noticed - "

"Noticed that random weird stuff happens around me? Like how there were more fender benders than usual? Even for New York? And that's not mentioning the way every machine back in that office place went nuts, yeah? I'm not a total idiot." Emmett rolled his shoulders, "Whatever, dude. I don't care. I just don't want to have this conversation HERE." He slapped on his patented foolhardy grin, though it had the distinct air of being painted on. "How about we go to Central Park and play some ball?"

"I don't know, Emmett. You and I alone don't make -"

Emmett punched Edward's shoulder none too gently, "Why do you have to be such a downer? We can walk laps around the park if it'll make you happy. Humor me for once, okay?"

"All right, all right! Mind that if someone dies because you trigger the collapse of a construction crane or anything to that affect I was the one who was against going out in the first place." Edward sincerely hoped nothing of the sort happened. The last thing they needed was another dead-not-dead person running around New York.

* * *

The walk over to the park had been mostly silent. Emmett had hummed on and off to keep it from becoming completely stifling, but had eventually stopped as a swath of trees and grass cut through the monochromatic cityscape. Thankfully, he'd kept a lid on the chaos he inflicted on their surroundings; perhaps Emmett's unusual solemnity was preventing it from running rampant as it had before. Even so, Edward felt fidgety with the sense of facing down one on one time with his brother.

It had been almost a year since he'd seen Emmett; Edward felt it was even longer since they'd had anything worth sharing with each other besides a casual 'hello and how are things'. Emmett was good at letting everything slide off his back like oil on water, but Edward had never been so permissive.

As both were mute to each other, the city was very much alive as it was midday. Dogs frolicked about, college students kicked back over homework, and health fanatics were working out way too hard.

Eventually, as they made their second lap through the park, Edward was wondering if maybe Emmett wasn't going to broach the topic at all when he finally spoke.

"Sio called."

Edward sucked in a breath, ready to defend himself, and then swallowed it. "And..."

Emmett shrugged, kicking out his feet with every step as if he were kicking a ball, "It was a while ago. She just wanted to say hi, get the latest, make sure we weren't embarrassing her name - the usual." He smirked a little at that last tidbit, a warmth leaking into his features.

Edward didn't know what to make of this statement of fact - a wholly expected one at that. Siobhan Cullen, their adoptive 'mother', made a habit of surprise communications; her approximation of maternal affection craftily hidden under socialite cloak and dagger customs. A big woman with an even bigger personality, she had taken an exceptional interest in the two brothers when their parents - influential people in their own right - died in a fatal car accident. Nothing exceptional there - a company car ride home ended in disaster when a police chase happened in the intersection they were crossing.

By interest of course meaning the woman had taken them in before they were lost to the system and groomed them to be the best of the best. At least that had ended out being true of Edward, yet she adored Emmett all the same.

"...and well, she insisted that you should be the one to help."

Edward started, obviously having been taken back down memory lane inadvertently, he coughed. "...Help with what?"

Coming to an abrupt halt, Emmett gave the exasperated head bob that all young men do when they know what they're saying isn't being heard. "The last time I tried to call you, bro. Sio thought that it wasn't her place to - she thought it would be better coming from you and - damn it, I needed your help!"

Scalded by the accusation, Edward held his hands up helplessly. "I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry, Em, but this isn't making the matter any clearer-"

"Rosalie is getting married!"

At his outburst, it seemed the whole park became eerily still. Where before the park was alive with sunlight and people going about relaxing and having a good time, there was a vacuum that had sucked the two brothers in so that it seemed they were no longer a part of it.

"I - uh - good for her?"

And just like that the sound swelled back up and the two men were nearly bowled over by a couple of cyclists.

Emmett threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "That...wasn't...heh, exactly the response I was looking for."

Dropping his hands slowly to his sides, Edward could feel a migraine amassing its forces behind his left eye. "You've completely lost me."

"That party I mentioned before, after the game, I tried to point her out to you, but - " Emmett rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, "Rosalie Hale is a - friend. More than a friend...but she didn't take me seriously...thought I was just another jock or whatever."

A lightbulb came to life above Edward's head before it popped with the force of this revelation. Emmett had a - not lover obviously from the disappointment that colored his expression - but certainly a love interest which wasn't all that unfamiliar as Emmett had been a bit of a playboy in high school; except this time was truly different. He wasn't just disappointed...Emmett looked genuinely heartbroken. Edward couldn't recall a time where he'd ever seen that look on his face besides the months following their parent's deaths.

Emmett shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away as Edward failed to say anything at all to that bit of news. "Not that it matters anymore, I just wanted to - to talk about it. She doesn't deserve that douchebag intern." He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "She was gonna be an actress - man, you should have seen her! She's kind of frosty on her own but when she gets together with all those drama buffs - it's like she - I don't know - it's like she actually becomes a star... She gets into it, without any props or anything!" He beamed as if he couldn't have been more proud of the woman Edward had never met. "But...she got a shit deal, you know? Couldn't keep up with the tuition...didn't know the right people...and then this guy started seeing her before she stopped showing up on campus..."

Not liking the bitterness that was creeping into Emmett's voice, Edward interrupted with a wry remark, "I realize that I'm well-loaded in the money department, but I don't actually have any mafia bosses on speed dial, if that's the kind of help you were looking for."

"Oh, up yours!" Emmett shoved him with an elbow, but couldn't hide the grin on his face at the jest. "I was thinking - I wanted to introduce her to someone who could maybe give her a leg up. She's the real deal - looks and everything. I thought if I hooked her up with you, she could do the modeling gig and she wouldn't sell herself short just because it didn't work out the first time."

"Ah..." Edward ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding his brother's eye. "Well...maybe I could have made that happen..."

"Yeah, but like I said - it's all water under the bridge now." Emmett murmured, "Maybe she'll be happy with that guy - it's possible, right?"

"Not as happy as she'd have been with you." It came out of his mouth with such conviction that Edward even surprised himself. Taking in Emmett's shell-shocked face, he felt again the stab of guilt for having been so far removed from his brother's life. He really was an asshole...

Before he knew it, Emmett had an arm around his neck and Edward was on the receiving end of horrific noogie.

"Aw, I get all warm and fuzzy when my big brother defends my honor."

"Geroff me, you sap - !"

Emmett released Edward with an extra hard knuckle rub over his scalp, knocking him onto his rear gracelessly. "You know you missed it!"

Squinting up at the hand in front his nose and Emmett's wide smile, Edward couldn't help his own shit-eating grin. "Not even close." He slapped his hand into Emmett's and allowed himself to be hauled up onto his feet.

"Whatever, man, I don't believe that for a second." Emmett shoved his hands into his pockets, watching Edward swat away the dirt from his backside. "Do you believe that we're actually dead?"

Edward paused in his ministrations, meeting Emmett's guarded stare with one of his own. "I think...I think our time here..." His jaw clenched as if the words were sticking to his teeth, "We're not dead...but we might as well be."

Emmett nodded slowly, several emotions flickering in his eyes before he replied, "You know, I never thought that I would end up in hell...but I'm positive that Aro is the devil."

In for a penny, in for a pound...

Both men shivered, neither openly acknowledging the menacing whisper that came from nowhere and echoed inside their heads.

Suddenly, Edward had a flashback of Jessica pressed up against his side, cooing something into his ear drunkenly. It seemed strange to remember while standing in the city park with his brother, coming to terms with what had passed and what may lay ahead, but it was appropriate all the same. "I could care less about the why we're here; I'm wholly committed to the while we're here. You still up for a game?"

All seriousness aside, Emmett rubbed his hands together in wicked anticipation. "I thought the two of us did not a team make?"

"You're not wrong," Edward smirked, "but I got drunk at a bar last night and that biker was nearly the perpetrator of a hit and run a few minutes ago. I think it's safe to say that we can still interact with people much as the same as we did when we were...alive."

"So..."

"So we find ourselves a couple of guys and play some damn football."

Emmett whooped, "Now you're talking!"

* * *

"Such wonderful affection...it makes me positively ill."

"There! You see the goodness that is inherent of all mankind - they are truly magnificent in their capacity for love."

"I find them much more entertaining when they're elbow deep in each other's entrails."

"Not all battles are won with a sword."

"And not all men are as honorable as their word."

"We shall see, old friend, what tomorrow may bring."

* * *

**A/N: As always thanks to my wonderful beta(s) for keeping me on task, especially museandpinksocks for telling me when I'm taking a turn for the worse. And again, I apologize for the late update since I had intended this to be up back in December, but something called Real Life got in the way. Other than that, please leave a review and look forward to the next chapter because I sure as hell am! The real fun is just beginning...mwahahaha!**


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